


Star Trek: Odyssey - In the Palace of Calypso

by Ulyssesemmel



Series: Star Trek: Odyssey [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Augment, F/M, Gen, Solar Sails, Space Opera, cyborg, holograms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-08-04 23:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 52,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16356494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulyssesemmel/pseuds/Ulyssesemmel
Summary: Ensign Lucy Kang of the starship Voyager has hit a bit of a rough patch. She's been cybernetically augmented without her permission, trapped on an abandoned space station outside normal space, and held hostage by an ancient AI that can literally reprogram her at will. Things may seem dire for the young technician, but one should never underestimate a Starfleet officer.Back on Voyager, the crew has had to move on after her loss, like so many other officers who were lost before her. But it isn't so easy for her old flame, Petty Officer Owen Vance. How far will he go to save her?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second episode in my ongoing series, Star Trek: Odyssey. You can start here and pick up on the story so far through context, or look for Star Trek: Odyssey - Isle of the Sun to read first. I leave it up to you.  
> This title still fits the category of Voyager fanfic, but considerably less of this story takes place on Voyager than the previous installment, and the story leans more heavily on original characters. It is very much a Star Trek story, however.  
> Fair warning: this one gets a little weird. There are lots of holograms, strange new aliens, weird ships, and quirky characters. Just roll with it.

STAR TREK

ODYSSEY

 

In The Palace of Calypso

 

_ "Son of Laertes, man of many wiles,  _

_ High-born Ulysses! thus wilt thou depart  _

_ Home to thy native country? Then farewell;  _

_ But, couldst thou know the sufferings Fate ordains  _

_ For thee ere yet thou landest on its shore,  _

_ Thou wouldst remain to keep this home with me  _

_ And be immortal…” _

__ \- The Odyssey of Homer _ _

 

 

* * *

 

CHAPTER 1

Lucy took a deep breath, savoring the fresh, salt-scented air. She drifted on the surface of the ocean, the gentle waves rocking her side to side, bearing her along on their relentless march to the shore. She heard only the soothing white noise of the waves caressing the sandy beach, the gentle splash of her hands paddling lightly against the water, and the occasional warble of a Risan gull.

Lucy opened her eyes, and crystal-blue skies filled her sight. A single, wispy cloud, gold on its westward face and lavender on its shadowed side, drifted high overhead.

She would have been happy to float this way forever, just soaking up the peacefulness of this moment, but it wasn’t long before the waves became choppy and her heel struck against the soft, red-gold sand of the beach. Lucy lowered her feet to the bottom and rose to standing. Between the waves, the water didn’t quite reach her knees. 

The evening breeze stirred against Lucy’s damp skin, her black spaghetti-strap bikini doing little to ward off the chill. She decided she was ready to leave the water for the day. There wasn’t much sunlight left, and her skin was starting to prune. 

Her eyes scanned the beach for her towel as she marched through the shallow water to the shoreline. She supposed she must have drifted a little ways down the beach on her trip back to shore, but she wasn’t sure in which direction, or how far. So, she looked to the line of Risan starburst palms that towered over the dunes beyond the tidal zone, looking for the outline of her small cabana in amidst the trees. The Risan sun hung low at her back, casting a honeyed glow on the open beach and dappling everything beyond the treeline in deep shadows.

Lucy was surprised by the presence of someone behind her, draping her sun-warmed towel over her shoulders. She craned her neck to the side and beheld Owen’s smiling face. He wrapped the towel around her and pulled her close, and Lucy let her weight settle against his warm body as he ran his hands up and down her sides, drying her off with her own towel.

“How did you manage to sneak up behind me?” said Lucy. She was suddenly smiling like mad.

Owen let out a single soft, breathy chuckle. “I saw you wash in on the tide, like so much driftwood.”

“ _ Excuse  _ me?” said Lucy, feigning offense. Her irrepressible grin betrayed her. “Did you just call me driftwood?”

“Sorry,” said Owen, “I meant to say… I saw you rise from the seafoam, like Aphrodite would.”

Lucy quirked an eyebrow, and her eyes darted over his lips. “Better.”

“And… I thought you might be cold, so I found your towel.”

Lucy pursed her lips in consideration. “Still doesn’t explain how you snuck up on me, though.”

“Sure it does,” said Owen, and he smirked. “You’re not very observant, you know.”

Lucy scoffed. “I am so,” she said, and she pushed herself free of Owen’s arms and turned around to face him directly. She sized him up with a critical eye, his broad shoulders and lean physique on display in his white swimming trunks, his wet, tousled blonde hair, his slanted grin, his honest hazel eyes, drinking her in like she was the only thing in the galaxy that could sustain him.

She pressed her finger against his heart. “I  _ see _ you, Owen Vance,” she said.

His smile grew brighter. “And I see  _ you _ , Lucy Kang.” He stepped closer and dipped his head, and Lucy stood on her toes, bringing her lips to his for a soft, ponderous kiss. She let her hands trail across his warm, damp shoulders and down the sculpted contours of his upper back.

After a moment, Owen took a step back. “But you don’t see yourself too well these days, do you?” His eyes were suddenly serious, even a little concerned.

Her brow crinkled in confusion, and she shook her head. “What do you mean?”

In response, he just looked down at the beach, and Lucy followed his gaze to the wet sand. A few centimeters of water surged up around their feet, and as the wave receded, the thin sheen of water that lingered on the sand rendered a vivid reflection. Lucy saw herself, her black hair falling to her shoulders in thick, wet tangles, framing her wide, dark eyes, her full lips, and the delicate angles of her heart-shaped face. The colorful towel draped over her shoulders hung down to her svelte waist, concealing her buxom figure but not the gentle swell of her hips or her shapely legs.

Then another surge of water dashed the image away, and as the wave receded, the reflection that emerged was subtly different.

Her wet hair was matted flat to her scalp. Her eyes weren’t quite so wide, and her features weren’t quite so delicate. Her legs were about as shapely as twigs, and her bony hips didn’t swell so much as jut.

The image of the way her body used to be left Lucy conflicted and confused. It was her _ real _ body, and Lucy missed the sense of living in her own skin. At the same time, she’d begun to take the more classically beautiful body that had been hoisted on her for granted. It was a relief, not agonizing over her appearance, having the effortless confidence that comes from feeling beautiful. Still, the sense of her body’s artificiality gnawed at her.

But why was she seeing this image in the sand? Lucy looked down at her real body and opened her towel. She’d never filled out a bikini this perfectly in her old skin. The image was just an illusion, then; a trick of the light. Lucy looked back to Owen, wondering what he was playing at. Only now, the sun was sinking behind him, setting the horizon alight. All she could see of him was his silhouette, crowned in liquid fire.

_ > root:> system :: reboot/ _

 

* * *

 

Ensign Lucy Kang woke to a world of featureless gray. She was still standing on her feet. She looked down and saw herself shrouded in a fog so dense she could hardly see the black part of her Starfleet uniform below its cerulean blue shoulders. 

She noticed her combadge was missing, and she patted her hips, looking for her other equipment. It was all gone. Her tricorder, her phaser, her accessory pouch, and even the holsters that carried her gear were missing from her waist.

As she patted herself down, Lucy noticed the fog was gradually thinning, revealing more of herself, and then exposing the boundaries of her environment; the transparent barrier of the circular chamber Hux had locked her in… how long ago?

How was she back on this space station again? She’d been on a beach. It wasn’t just a dream. She remembered; she and Owen had reserved a private cabana on a small island in the Lethes Archipelago of the Southern Hemisphere of Risa. She remembered the suborbital hopper that they’d taken to get to the island, and before that, the interstellar liner they’d taken from… from where, again?

And in the first place, how had she escaped this automated nightmare station, buried at the bottom of subspace? Its sole contact with the galaxy was a wormhole that opened exclusively at the behest of the station. Had  _ Voyager _ found another way to reach her? Was that before or after they made it back to the Alpha Quadrant? 

Why couldn’t she remember? She’d just been back on Risa with Owen, so they  _ must _ have made it back somehow. It had been so  _ real.  _ More real than this foggy place, certainly. And her memories of the last several days were so clear… So maybe  _ this _ place was the dream?

But then, why wasn’t she surprised to see her holographic jailor outside of her cell as the last of the fog thinned away? Hux stood just on the other side of the glass, exactly where she remembered him being a few minutes ago… or days ago? Years ago?

If she’d been frozen all this time, she supposed it might have been millennia.

Hux regarded her with the same solemn expression he’d had when he’d locked her up in the first place, however long ago. His face was different, though. He’d had a little bit of a cranial ridge the last time she’d seen him, and his ears had been just a little pointy. Now, he looked entirely human. 

He was even wearing a Human outfit; a suit like a neighborhood politician might wear in New Seoul on Alpha Centauri; a long black jacket over a white turtleneck, trim, boot-cut slacks showing off his pseudo-traditional lace-up sandals and dress socks. He wore the outfit quite well, Lucy had to admit.

“You changed your face,” said Lucy.

Hux nodded, and then a segment of Lucy’s cell the size of a doorway turned spontaneously to liquid and flowed out into the surrounding walls, offering Lucy an exit.

Hux stepped back, out of the way, and gestured for Lucy to step out of the chamber.

Lucy took a step, but then she hesitated. “How long?”

“How long… what?” said Hux.

“How long have I been in this prison?” 

She braced herself for the worst conceivable answer; the answer that would tell her that all her friends and family were long dead, that her civilization had long ago crumbled to dust, that her species was either extinct or evolved beyond recognition. Half a million years ought to have done the trick, she figured.

“Check your chronometer,” said Hux.

“How?” said Lucy, “You stole my equipment.”

“ _ Starfleet’s  _ equipment,” Hux corrected her. “And I didn’t steal anything. I sent it back with them when they departed.”

Lucy shook her head. “I signed that gear out! It was  _ my _ gear until I signed it back in again, and  _ my  _ responsibility.”

“Well, it’s not anymore,” said Hux. “You’re no longer in Starfleet.”

Lucy huffed. “Says  _ you.  _ So, how do you expect me to check my chronometer, then?”

“Like this,” said Hux.

_ > host/query access:> internal chronometer/ _

Lucy shook her head, trying to fend off the foreign thought that popped into her mind. “Don’t! I hate it when you do that!” 

It drove her nuts that the station could put things in her head whenever it wished, using her implants to interface directly with her brain. It was all very Borg-like, and she would have found it terrifying, if her capacity for fear hadn’t been blunted by the Aug-Tech implants, along with her capacity for sorrow and pain. As it was, though, she found it aggravating in the extreme.

“You need to learn how to use your Aug-Tech for yourself,” said Hux. “I’m showing you.”

_ > host/internal chronometer:> report/ _

_ Stardate 52072.4151687943433364 _

Lucy blinked. It could have been a lot worse. Then again, it could have been a hell of a lot better.

“Five-two-oh-seven-two mark four?”

Hux nodded. “That’s right.”

“It’s been a year and a half?”

“It’s been one year, one hundred eighty-one days, nine hours, and fifty-five minutes since you arrived on this station.”

“In that case, I guess my ship is thousands of light-years away by now…”

“ _ Voyager _ is on a higher spatial plane, Ms. Kang. There is no direct vector along which to measure her relative distance from us,” said Hux.

“Right…” said Lucy. If she could find a way to access the wormhole network that the station used, she realized, she might be able to return to normal space  _ anywhere.  _ She might still be able to reach her ship. “Where is it, though?” she asked. “Can you tell?”

Hux shook his head. “Not even if I had a reason to, which I do not.”

Lucy bit her lip and considered what she knew about  _ Voyager’s _ course through the Delta Quadrant. If she could find a way back to normal space a few months ahead of  _ Voyager's _ most likely trajectory, she would have time to track down the ship and make contact before they passed her by.

She'd have to gain access to the station's systems first, though, and that meant gaining the station’s trust.

Lucy returned her attention to her holographic jailor, who was watching her expectantly. She decided she would clamp down on her knee-jerk impulse to make life as hard as possible for her captor, at least for now. “So, you woke me up for a reason, I take it. How can I be of help?”

Hux’s face broke into a grin. He gestured for Lucy to step out of the pillar, and she gladly obliged. As she stepped through the door, she took a closer look at Hux’s newly Human face.

“Why did you change it?”

Hux tilted his head thoughtfully. “I try to adapt my appearance to suit the circumstances.”

“I see,” said Lucy. “You’re not trying to impress any Klingons or Vulcans anymore. Just little old me.”

Hux chuckled. “‘Impress’ isn’t the right word, I don’t think. Set at ease, rather.”

“Uh huh,” said Lucy. “Is that the idea behind the chameleon routine my skin puts on? The reason I turned bright blue after eating lunch with a Bolian?”

“In a way. One of the basic features of your Aug-Tech package is to adapt your appearance and personality to suit each user.”

Lucy scoffed. “I don’t have  _ users. _ That’s disgusting. And my personality doesn’t change, just my appearance.”

“Yes, well, the Aug-Tech apparatus never operated on your species before, and it didn’t have access to the station’s higher A.I. while installing your upgrades. So, you didn’t get all the features. Not to worry, though. I’ll be sure to remedy that if I ever provide you to a customer.”

Lucy made a bitter face. “You’re a monster.”

Hux just sighed and shook his head. “Follow me.” He turned around and walked towards the lift platform set into a wide nook in the wall, and Lucy stood in place, reassessing her strategy. She needed the station’s trust, but she didn’t know if it would really do her any good, even if she had it. The station could control her  _ mind _ . That was a tough advantage to overcome.

Hux stood on the lift and turned around, regarding Lucy with a questioning quirk of his eyebrow. She walked, slowly, to the lift while Hux waited for her with infinite patience.

The moment both her feet touched the platform, it went rocketing through the station, arriving at a higher deck in the blink of an eye.

Lucy looked around, taking in the wide open room, like nowhere else on the station she had seen.

“Is this your holodeck?” said Lucy. She stepped off of the lift platform onto the deck, which was hardwood, or a very convincing imitation. 

Hux shook his head. “This is one of the station’s housing facilities for staff. The walls, floors, furniture, et cetera are all configurable for the needs of the workers. 

“Walls?” Lucy echoed, “What walls?”

The room was nearly the size of a Parrises Squares court, fully open layout, enclosed not by walls, but by a wooden rail, and surrounded on all sides by nature’s splendor. The lift pad occupied the center of the room. In the southeast corner, there was a queen-sized bed with an armoire, a dresser, and a full-length mirror arranged around it. In the southwest corner, a sofa and a few comfortable chairs were arranged around a coffee table, and a squat bookshelf stood against the rail, loaded with hardcover books and Federation-style digital readers. At the other end of the rectangular room, the northeast corner was dominated by an array of large, holographic display screens surrounding a C-shaped desk, the whole surface of which was taken up with a console interface panel. The northwest corner had a kitchen table and a few chairs, a countertop with an inlaid sink and a few cabinets, a stovetop, and a replicator nook. 

The aesthetic touches were all in the New Seoul beach vogue style, unique to a few neighborhoods of one city on Alpha Centauri, and almost every hard surface was made of wood. Even the console interfaces projected their buttons and readouts over a wood-like textured surface. The wooden roof rested on wooden pillars extending from the wooden rails, with old-fashioned wooden rafters bearing up a classic triangular apex. The awnings extended over a meter beyond the railing, protecting the room from inclement weather.

Beyond the rails, the cabana overlooked a sweeping beach vista to the west, a waterfall tumbling over a dramatic, moss-covered cliff into a tranquil, freshwater pond to the east, and a forest of Risan clover ferns and starburst palms in between. 

The weather was pleasantly warm, with a sultry breeze keeping the heat perfectly in check. The air was alive with the sounds of chirping jungle birds, singing amphibians, warbling Risan gulls, and whistling insects, set to the slow and steady rhythm of crashing waves.

“This beach…” said Lucy.

“Pulled straight from your memories,” said Hux.

“But I was just here,” she said. “Did you know that? Was that you?”

Hux nodded. “I thought you could use a little vacation to get your cortisol levels in check.”

So it hadn’t been a dream, then. It was a simulation. Like this place, except all in her head.

“So this’ll be my terrarium, I take it?”.

“Do you like it?”

Lucy shrugged. “A prison’s a prison. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble for my sake.”

“Even so, it suits my interests to keep you in optimal physical and mental health.”

“What, you can’t just… tweak my personality to make me happy?”

She kind of regretted the words when they were out of her mouth. She didn’t want to give the hologram any ideas.

Hux sighed. “Would that it were so simple. Humanoid brains are complex, inefficient things, wired together through billions of years of evolution to exist in natural environments like this one. I can patch over mental health issues easily enough, of course, but a patch is just a patch.”

“We evolved to be free,” said Lucy. “To be with our own kind.”

“With your own kind, yes,” said Hux, “But we can trick those circuits easily enough. As for the freedom bit, I don’t agree. That’s a cultural norm, not an evolved trait. Your species is naturally hierarchical, just like most other social mammals. You’re happiest when you have someone setting boundaries and giving you purpose.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Are you an expert on the Human species, now, Mr. Hologram?”

Hux considered for a moment, then nodded. “I’ve seen enough of you and your people to feel comfortable in my assessment of your species. You’re omnivores, nearly eusocial, aspirational, highly aggressive, very territorial, and extremely adaptable. You want to dominate your environment, not as individuals, but as a tribe. You want as large a tribe as possible because a larger tribe means more power, safety, stability, and options for genetic diversity and fitness when choosing a mate. That’s driven you to build larger and larger tribalistic institutions, beginning with villages, then countries, and now your galactic ‘Federation.’

“You’ve reached a logical extreme in your social evolution, where you try to integrate as many compatible beings into your tribe as you possibly can, uniting under a common set of cultural norms and driving away those who can’t or won’t conform.”

“Ok, already,” said Lucy. “I’ve heard the whole ‘Humans aren’t so great’ speech before, so there’s no need to talk my ear off. No matter what you think, though, Humans and cages don’t mix. It doesn’t matter how well the cage is gilded.”

Hux sighed. “Well... hopefully, you’ll come around. You’re going to be here for quite a while, after all.”

“And why is that?” said Lucy. “You looking for a pet or something?”

“I’ve got work for you, Ms. Kang. You’re going to take care of some of the problems that have sprung up around here.”

“And how the hell am I going to do that? I don’t know anything about this place or its technology.”

“Well, I’m going to install a systems maintenance package on you.”

“A ‘systems maintenance package’? Is that… hardware or software?”

“Oh, it's purely informational, not to worry. I'm going to set you up with a blueprint of the station, a detailed grasp of system operations, and a mandate to apply your full efforts towards the proper operations of the station.”

“Oh,” said Lucy. “Is that all?”

“Well, those are the broad strokes, at least.”

“And this ‘mandate’... Is this going to entail another override of my free will? My ‘executive initiation’?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely. But this should be the last time it's necessary.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” said Lucy. “I think I'd rather keep the overrides on a case-by-case basis if it's all the same.”

Hux chuckled softly. “I'm sure you would. Now, just relax, and we'll have this done in a moment.”

_ > root/query access:> cognitive framework/ _

_ > root/cognitive framework:> Install systems maintenance package/ _

“Hang on a sec!” said Lucy. 

_ Downloading... _

Her mind was racing, trying to think how to stall the hologram until she could figure a way out of this mess. 

_ 7% complete… _

“You’re an autonomous A.I. with the capacity for creative problem solving, aren't you? What do you need with my help?”

_ 15% complete… _

“Could a doctor perform surgery on his own brain, Ms. Kang?”

_ 23% complete… _

“Your  _ brain _ ? You're going to give me that much access to your computer systems?”

Hux nodded.

_ 30% complete… _

That would be great news if she could find a way to avoid being mentally enslaved to that same computer system.

_ 38% complete… _

Hux had told her she could control her own Aug-Tech. Maybe she could stop the process?

_ 46% complete… _

She knew she’d successfully imparted commands on the implants before; but so far, she’d only figured out how to push back against them, not how to steer them herself. Seeing as Hux could simply override her resistance, she knew she needed to find a more sophisticated means of control. 

_ 53% complete…  _

Lucy did her best to visualize a console screen, like the one in the bioneural maintenance lab on  _ Voyager _ where she’d worked for three years before being trapped here. She pictured a readout on the console that would display the thought-inputs that the station was putting in her head, as well as the involuntary thought-outputs that popped into her head as a result. 

Below the readout, she pictured a prompt where she could enter her own input, and then she tried using it.

_ > Disable Aug-Tech. _

_ Error: Unable to comply _ .

Ha! The command didn’t work, but at least she got a response from her implants. She was talking to them. It was an important first step.

_ 61% complete… _

_ > Cancel download. _

_ Confirm (Y/N):> _

Lucy felt a thrill of victory, but she quickly thought better of it. For one thing, it was a little too obvious. Hux would probably be ready for it. And if she canceled, he’d catch on quick and probably try again, more forcefully this time, overriding her willpower in advance. Plus, she wouldn't get the access to station's systems that she needed.

_ Confirm (Y/N):> N _

_ 70% complete… _

She needed a way to sabotage the installation at a critical moment.

_ 78% complete… _

Except, the last time she'd done that, she'd broken her own mind and wound up without even the willpower to breathe, almost suffocating to death before it was fixed. That was definitely something to avoid. After all, it wasn’t like she could restore her own mind from backups…

_ 86% complete… _

Unless she could!

_ > Create backups of /root/executive initiation/ and /root/cognitive framework/ _

At that, a torrent of competing processes flooded Lucy’s imaginary console with overlapping messages in rapid progression.

_ 93% complete… _

_ Working… _

_ 99% complete… _

_ Backing up executive initiation… _

_ Download complete. _

_ Installing… _

_ Backup 12% complete… _

_ Installation 7% complete... _

As her backup started and Hux’s installation progressed, the jumble of competing processes became a serious strain. Lucy couldn’t hold the image of the console anymore. She couldn’t focus on anything beyond of the involuntary efforts being forced on her brain. It was like listening to a lecture on warp physics in one ear and a symposium on the Prime Directive towards oppressive regimes in the other. Both processes were challenging and taxing in very different ways, and she was being forced to devote her full attention to both at once. She felt like her head might burst from the strain. 

“Just breathe,” Hux soothed.

“Shut up!” Lucy snapped. She couldn’t handle any more input at the moment. She clamped her hands to her ears and clutched her eyes shut.

“What has you so overtaxed?” said Hux. “Your brain should be able to handle this package comfortably enough.”

_ Backup 67% complete… _

_ Installation 51% complete… _

“Let’s see…”

_ > root/query access:> active processes :: list _

_ Denied! _

Hux sighed in annoyance.

_ > root/query access:> executive initiation :: override _

_ Backup 79% complete… _

_ Installation 57% complete…   _

_ > root/query access:> active processes :: list _

_ - Backup of executive initiation _

_ \- Installation of systems maintenance package _

_ Backup 88% complete… _

_ Installation 64% complete... _

Hux chuckled, spotting Lucy’s attempt to back up what remained of her cognitive independence before he could overwrite it. “Clever! You’re already learning your features, that’s good!”

_ > root/active processes:> Cancel backup of executive initiation _

_ NO! _

_ > root/query access:> executive initiation :: override _

_ Backup 99% complete… _

_ Installation 69% complete… _

_ > root/active processes:> Cancel backup of executive initiation _

_ Canceling… _

_ Backup complete. _

_ Error! Backup is already complete. _

_ > Delete error message; do not report _

_ Installation 73% complete... _

She did it! Hux was too slow to stop the backup! Now, she could only hope he wouldn’t notice he’d failed, and that she’d actually get the chance to use it.

_ Backing up cognitive framework… _

The barrage of competing demands on her mind continued as the second backup she’d ordered got started, but Lucy did her best to repress any outward sign of her ongoing distress.

Hux was watching her closely, though, and he wasn’t fooled.

_ > root/query access:> active processes :: list _

_ \- Installation of systems maintenance package _

_ \- Backup of cognitive framework _

Hux laughed. “You don’t quit, do you? Backing up your entire cognitive framework won’t change anything, though.” He shrugged. “You’re really just causing yourself more discomfort.”

Lucy was grateful for the enormous strain on her mind for masking her smug reaction. If Hux wasn’t threatened by this backup, it followed that he  _ had _ felt threatened by the one he’d tried to prevent. If Lucy’s head hadn’t felt like it was being filled to bursting by a torrent of raw information, she might have been tempted to smile.

_ Backup 28% complete…  _

_ Installation complete. _

_ Configuring… _

_ Error! Cognitive framework is engaged in a conflicting task. _

_ > root/active processes:> Cancel backup of cognitive framework _

_ Canceling... _

_ Backup canceled. _

_ Configuring... _

Lucy scoffed indignantly as Hux discarded her backup attempt without even a word of apology. “What, you were just letting me do that to keep me busy? You never planned to let me finish?”

Hux shook his head solemnly. “Hey, at least you gave it your best shot.”

_ Reconfiguring spatiotemporal framework… _

_ > Reconfiguring what, now? _

_ Reconfiguring spatiotemporal framework… _

That didn’t sound good. 

_ > Cancel _

_ Warning! Canceling process will compromise cognitive framework. _

_ Confirm (Y/N):> _

Lucy hadn’t forgotten the experience of suffocating from the sheer lack of will to breathe. She hesitated, and the program in her brain carried on its work.

Lucy was struck with a sense of place. Suddenly, she no longer perceived her surroundings as a strange faux-beach wedged somewhere in the guts of an obscure, alien station in the fathomless depths of subspace. She was standing in maintenance habitat three, on deck nine of the Delurididug Trade Hub, occupying Nexus Seven of the Delurididug Travel Network at a subspace fathom of 9.931.

She knew where the actual walls were around her; just a couple meters beyond the railings. She knew where the bioneural nodes were concealed in the bulkheads, and she could mentally trace their interconnected pathways in a network that put  _ Voyager _ ’s BNG grid to shame. She knew the layout of the station’s distributed power systems, weapon systems, and warp field manifolds. She knew where to find the guest lodging, the food court, the guest vendor arcade, and the waste extraction facilities.

_ Reconfiguring knowledge base… _

Information flooded Lucy’s mind in a torrent, and she didn’t absorb more than a superficial impression of any of it. She got a rough idea of the purpose of the warp field manifolds; how they related to the capture and stabilization of transient wormholes, but she couldn’t make sense of the mountains of information detailing how they actually worked. It was like she’d memorized a textbook written in a foreign language. 

She got a loose sense of the phase-distributed power core, although it made absolutely no sense to her. It ran on some kind of exotic, geometrically perfect meta-molecule with vast potential energy and influence over subspace, and it was contained by some mind-bending applications of spatial phasing. Beyond that, the technical schematics were nonsensical.

Lucy was so absorbed with this flood of information about the world around her that she almost missed the ongoing processes in her own head. The software had gone on reconfiguring her knowledge base, revealing insights about the bioneural systems and other basic functions of the station, and then it moved on to a more sensitive part of her mind.

_ Reconfiguring executive initiation… _

Belatedly, Lucy scrambled to think of some protective measures before the installation process could further compromise her autonomy.

… 

Lucy blinked. A moment ago, she’d been desperate to stop the station from overwriting her free will. Now, though, she couldn’t remember what her plan had been. Whatever it was, though, Hux must have sniffed it out and deleted it from her head.

Well, that was his prerogative, she supposed. As an asset of the Delurididug Trade Hub, the administrative A.I. of the station had the purview to edit her memory and personality engrams pretty much however it saw fit. She didn’t like the idea, but it was what it was.

_ Reconfiguring operative imperatives… _

Lucy began to intuit the kinds of tasks the station would require of her, and a new level of understanding dawned. It finally made sense, why the station brought her out of stasis and upgraded her with a systems maintenance package. It really  _ did _ need her help.

When Lucy had first arrived on the station, the disfunction she’d seen was the product of centuries of accumulated errors. The station was helpless to reverse the damage, because it couldn’t even recognize its own condition. It knew that it was malfunctioning, but it couldn’t see how or why until it made contact with  _ her _ . Lucy’s encounter with the Aug-Tech apparatus had given the station a glimpse of her perspective, providing it with the insight that it desperately needed to understand its injury. Her understanding of bioneural systems even supplemented the station’s ability to perform self-diagnostics.

“What a lucky accident,” said Lucy, her voice dripping in sarcasm, “That you just happened to get yourself a bioneural technician to help you with your bioneural system failures.”

“Indeed,” said Hux, “I’m glad you’re here.”

Lucy gave Hux a withering glare. “Come on, Hux, this is way too convenient. Are you really going to tell me you didn’t plan on kidnapping me from the start?”

Hux put up his hands defensively. “I followed the letter of the law,” he said.

“Maybe you did, but somehow, you manipulated events to get me into your Aug-Tech pod. You acted like I was committing a criminal act, stealing technology from the station, when it was  _ you  _ who was violating my body and stealing my expertise! And then, you contrived that whole tribunal for Chakotay just to get me back to the station, so you could force me to stay.” She punctuated with a couple accusative jabs on his insubstantial shoulder. 

“I did not  _ contrive  _ anything, and your intent  _ was  _ criminal. Your people came here to steal our intellectual property. That much is a matter of record. You came onto the damaged outpost of an unknown sovereign power, looking to take whatever you needed, without permission or recompense.  _ If _ I steered you to the Aug-Tech Augmentation Parlor, where you  _ might _ , by your own error, accidentally trip the faulty activation interface, then I was well within my rights. I am not liable for the welfare of interlopers. And,  _ if  _ I took advantage of the resulting legal situation by retaining possession of you, then I was only choosing the best way to collect my lawfully-owed debt. I was within my rights. I’m not designed to operate any other way, but always within my rights.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “And you accused  _ us _ of dealing with you in bad faith. You weren’t just defending your station against trespassers. You made sure we could come on board in the first place. And once we were here, you targeted me specifically, didn’t you? Because you really  _ need  _ me.”

Hux shook his head. “I have four other Aug-Tech units in storage I could dust off and load up with the exact same systems maintenance package.”

“And yet, you went out of your way to catch me, and now  _ I’m  _ the one you’ve got conducting your repairs. I’m not an idiot. All this information you put in my head? Ninety-nine percent of it might as well be written in Iconian, but the bioneural systems? I get those. I’m reviewing them right now, and…” 

Lucy paused, momentarily awed by the vast web of nodes around her and the brilliant way they organized and encoded information, allowing the same substrate to carry hundreds of datastreams concurrently. “Wow, that’s amazing. That makes sense…”

She shook her head, returning her focus to the point she was trying to make. “It might take a lifetime for me to digest all of this information, but I’ve already got a pretty good understanding of the basics of your BNG grid. I’ll do a better job working on your ‘brain’ than any of those other units ever would.”

Hux shrugged. “So?”

_ Configuration complete. Systems maintenance package installed successfully. _

“‘So?’ What do you mean, ‘So?’”

“I mean, Ms. Kang, so _ what _ ? So what if I  _ do _ need you? So what if I  _ did  _ plan it all from the start? None of it would change the fact that you are now an asset of the Delurididug Trade Hub. So, what is the point you’re trying to make?”

Lucy sighed and shook her head. It galled her to admit he was right. “So… where do you want me to start?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owen Vance has not taken the loss of Ensign Kang very well.

CHAPTER 2

“From the beginning, Petty Officer,” said Lieutenant Commander Tuvok. “What drove you to tamper with the long-range sensors without sanction?”

Owen tried not to let his discomfort show. Tuvok made it sound like he’d been caught sabotaging the ship or something. “Commander, I had purely good intentions.”

“That does not answer my question,” said Tuvok.

“Well…” Owen scratched his unshaved cheek, considering the most logical way to explain himself to his Vulcan inquisitor. “You know how I’ve been studying for my sensor tech certification, this past year.”

“Yes,” said Tuvok.

“Well, I’ve learned a lot. And I had a few ideas for boosting sensor sensitivity in the two-point-four to two-point-six gigaHertz subspace radio range.”

Tuvok arched an eyebrow. He clearly understood the significance of that particular bandwidth. “And did you bring these ideas to Seven of Nine?”

“Yes!” said Owen. “She won’t even give them a chance. Just tells me to ‘return to my assigned function.’”

“An understandable position,” said Tuvok. “It is unlikely that your off-duty studies for an entry-level sensor position could provide an insight that her lifetimes of experience might miss.”

Owen huffed. Everyone put so much stock in a former Borg’s “lifetimes of experience.” If the Borg were so great, how come  Voyager  had beaten them at every turn?

“Not if she isn’t  looking ,” said Owen. “Seven of Nine never even met… her.” Even after all this time, just saying Lucy’s name was painful for Owen. “She doesn’t understand why it’s important to keep looking.”

“Seven of Nine has been fully briefed on Ensign Lucille Kang's circumstances, and she has agreed to continue the search.”

“Sure,” said Owen. “Routine sweeps. Passive scans. That’s all the effort that anyone on this ship is willing to spare! Commander, in their current configuration, our routine sensor sweeps would detect a class three wormhole within a radius of only fifty-four light-years. I’m convinced we could double that!” Owen wanted to plant his hands on Tuvok’s desk and press his point, but years of living under Starfleet discipline had taught him how to stand at attention while addressing a senior officer, no matter what.

For his part, Tuvok appeared unmoved by Owen’s claim. “And what did you do after Seven rejected your ideas?”

“I went to Lieutenant Torres,” said Owen.

“With the recent damage that the Hirogen have inflicted on  Voyager , she was undoubtedly too busy to help you,” said Tuvok.

Owen nodded. “She promised she’d look over my plans when she had time, but she didn’t seem particularly interested in the idea.”

“And is that when you decided to take unilateral action?”

Owen shook his head. “It was a small thing, sir. All I did was build a simple SSR frequency modulator. Low power, limited scope. I was only going to plug it into an auxiliary signal converter, just to get some numbers and refine my design. It was harmless.” 

Unfortunately, before he could finish installing the modulator, Seven had walked into Astrometrics and caught him pulling the panel off the back of the center console. She didn't even say a word to him or give him a chance to explain himself. She just hit her combadge and called Tuvok.

“None of those are valid excuses, Petty Officer. You are not authorized to modify any astrometric or sensor systems without express orders.”

Owen nodded and consciously straightened his posture, prepared for whatever consequences Tuvok would deem appropriate. The last eighteen months, he’d become adept at accepting reprimands gracefully. “Understood, sir. It won’t happen again.”

Seven strode into Tuvok’s security office carrying Owen’s subspace radio modulator, a small black cartridge with a pair of short ODN leads dangling out the bottom, and she dropped it on Tuvok’s desk.

“It’s a rudimentary subspace signal repeater, designed to boost gain in a highly narrow bandwidth,” she told Tuvok.

“Rudimentary?” Owen scoffed. “Hey, it works… right?”

Seven cast a glare at the petty officer. “It magnifies a two hundred megaHertz range at the expense of the surrounding five hundred. Highly inefficient.”

Owen sighed. “That’s the sort of thing I need to know if I’m going to make progress refining it. And in an auxiliary signal converter, all it would cost is a little redundant signal clarity. I’d say that’s a small price to pay…”

“That is not for you to decide,” said Seven. “The sensor grid is a finely tuned instrument, and each subsystem serves an important role. Your interference could serve to create exploitable weaknesses in  Voyager’s sensor grid.” She turned back to Tuvok. “How do you intend to handle this incident?”

Owen looked to Tuvok as well. “I accept any disciplinary measures you deem appropriate, sir,” said Owen, “But please, don’t forget Ensign Kang, or the obligation we owe to her.”

“You’re on report, Petty Officer,” said Tuvok. “And you are prohibited from entering Astrometrics for any reason until Seven of Nine decides otherwise. Additionally, you’re to report to maintenance to clean deuterium vents for one additional shift every week for the next three months. You’re dismissed.”

Owen’s eyes went wide. He’d expected to be disciplined--hell, he’d half-expected another demotion, maybe even brig time. But he hadn’t expected Tuvok to ignore his plea completely. He looked to Seven, but she didn’t return his gaze. She nodded to Tuvok, accepting his judgment as satisfactory, and turned to walk out of the office.

Owen knew protocols required he leave as well, but his feet were rooted. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” 

Seven paused in the doorway and cast half a glance back.

“This is not an appropriate time. You’re dismissed,” said Tuvok.

Owen’s fists clenched convulsively as if he’d been electrocuted. He figured he’d better follow protocol and get the hell out of the office before he did something that would put his ruined career out of its misery once and for all. He turned on his heel and marched directly towards the door, and Seven resumed her gait just in time to clear the doorway and let Owen pass. He flashed her a look of utter loathing as he passed, and she returned his gaze with cool, clinical dispassion.

A few steps on, Owen heard Tuvok’s office doors whisk shut, and he whirled around on Seven. “I wouldn’t expect you, of all people, to understand the importance of one person’s life,” he said. “But do you have to stand in the way of those of us who  do? ”

“My priority is to protect this ship and  all  of the lives on board,” said Seven. She lifted her chin and met Owen’s glare directly. “I won’t have that work compromised by one crewman’s obsession.”

Owen shook his head. “You don’t get it at all. We’re just units to you. Interchangeable commodities.  I’m not a number, Seven.”

Seven betrayed no reaction, but turned around and walked down the corridor in the opposite direction.

“Lucy Kang is not just a number!” he called after her. “She’s worth your time and your respect!”

Seven rounded the bend in the corridor and disappeared from sight without once looking back.

Owen found his breaths were coming short and fast. He raked his fingers through his unkempt hair and looked around, unsure what to do next. He wasn’t on duty, and his sensor tech studies suddenly seemed profoundly pointless. 

He decided to head down to maintenance and knock out his first disciplinary shift. There was no point putting it off, and besides, maybe some time spent scrubbing deuterium vents would help him work through his urge to lash out at everything around him.

\--o--o--o--

“What are you going to do about Mr. Vance, Tuvok?” said Captain Janeway.

She, Chakotay, Tuvok, the Doctor, and Torres were gathered in Janeway’s ready room for their weekly department meeting. At first, these meetings had been about finding ways to integrate the Maquis more fully into the crew. As time went on, the focus had shifted more and more towards keeping up morale and spotting crewmembers in distress. Five years confined to a small starship in hostile space was taking a toll on everyone, and Janeway frequently lamented the ship’s lack of a qualified counselor.

As for Petty Officer Vance, his name had come up frequently in these meetings in the last year and a half. The loss of Ensign Kang had turned the once reliable, professional, competent security officer into a frequent liability, making life harder for Tuvok’s whole department.

“I have put him on report and assigned him additional shifts,” said Tuvok. “If there is another incident of this nature, I will most likely reduce his rank to lead crewman.”

Janeway shook her head. “But what are you going to do so that it doesn’t come to that? When he’d put in a request to pursue a sensor tech certification, I’d hoped he was finally moving past his grief. But from what you and Seven have told me, it’s clear he’s still caught in a downward spiral.”

Tuvok looked uncertain. “I confess, Captain, I am at a loss. I have instructed his peers to give him… ‘moral support,’ and I have even offered to instruct him on meditative techniques to cope with his emotions. However, Mr. Vance is unwilling to put the past behind him, and he seems to regard any suggestion that he attempt to do so as an attack on the memory of Ensign Kang.”

Janeway shook her head sadly.

“If only she’d died, back on that station,” said Lieutenant Torres.

“I beg your pardon?” said the Doctor.

The others turned bemused gazes on the engineer.

“What?” she said, instantly defensive. “I’m not saying I wish she were dead; of course, I don’t want that. But if she’d died, then at least we would have a clean resolution. She didn’t, though. Frankly, it keeps me up at night sometimes, wondering what might have become of her, and I didn’t even know her all that well. Vance was in love with her for years before this all happened.”

The Doctor’s brow furrowed. “I wasn’t aware that their relationship predated the encounter with the Delurididug station.”

Torres shrugged. “I got the impression it was sort of one-sided. I don’t know the details.”

A moment passed in quiet contemplation.

“This is all about a proposed modification to the long-range sensor array, isn’t it?” said Chakotay.

Tuvok nodded. “He attempted to modify the sensor grid without Seven of Nine’s knowledge or consent.”

“And how did he intend to hide his modification from her?” said Chakotay. “He’s not exactly a technical wizard.”

“Indeed,” said Tuvok. “The action appears to have been impulsive, without forethought for the consequences.”

“An act of desperation?” said Torres.

“Or a cry for help,” said Captain Janeway. “This modification. I assume it was intended to spot type-three wormholes.”

Tuvok nodded. “Vance believes he has found a way to double the range of our subspace sensors in the two-point-four to two-point-six gigaHertz range, which is the range in which we would expect to detect such a wormhole.”

“Well, would it work?” Janeway asked Torres.

Torres looked up and met the captain’s eyes, suddenly put on the spot. “To be honest, Captain, I haven’t had a chance to look over his specs. He gave them to me a couple days ago, but with all the damage the Hirogen did to this ship, not to mention the World War Two ordinance…”

Janeway put up a placating hand. “The ongoing repairs take priority, of course. But look it over when you have a chance, and if it’s workable, even if it takes a bit of time and effort to put into action…”

“Of course, Captain,” said Lieutenant Torres. “Seven won’t like it, though.”

“Let me deal with Seven,” said Janeway. 

“Captain, is it wise to indulge Mr. Vance’s illogical fixation?” said Tuvok. “To reward his insubordination…”

“I’m not trying to undermine your decision, Tuvok,” said Janeway. “Your disciplinary measures were entirely appropriate. But I’m not going to turn a blind eye to a good idea because of the way it was executed. A member of my crew is out there somewhere, and Petty Officer Vance is not the only person who wants her back. Now, if we can only convince him of that fact, then maybe we'll finally get through to him. Otherwise, Kang won't be the only officer we lose to that infernal space station.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy adjusts to life on the station.

CHAPTER 3

There was an old folk song, its origins lost to antiquity. Her mom would sing it from time to time when Lucy was a kid. 

She had a very clear memory of her mother singing it as she worked on a still life painting, standing in the living room of her childhood home. Sunlight slanted through the blinds, lighting up dustmotes in columns like rosy fingers that raked the canvas, obscuring whatever fruit or flowers she was trying to recreate. She sang softly as she worked, muttering half the words under her breath, but when she hit the chorus, her voice rose, clear and sweet in the stillness of a lazy Centauri summer morning.

Lucy had grown up in a typical New Seoul household, in a house that was decorated in the beach vogue style, even though her family lived more than ten kilometers from the beach. She and her brothers went to a typical New Seoul school. Mom made kimchi in the backyard and baked sourdough bread in the kitchen. Dad had a sleek and stately sailboat. He liked to go diving in the Bay of Ithaca Sound. And mom painted sometimes, and she sang songs.

_ Blackbird, fly… Into the light of the dark black night.  _

“That’s a nice melody,” said Hux. He was watching Lucy as she worked, as he always did.

She’d once asked him, “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Of course, he didn’t. Hux had hardly left her alone for a moment in the past six weeks, and even when he did, she knew he was still monitoring her. It bothered her, but she understood. He was just performing his function, same as she was.

“Thanks,” said Lucy. “My mom used to sing it.”

She was on her knees in a service crawlway, and he was standing just outside, crouched down to watch her as she plunged her bare hands into an open hatch. The hatch opened into the organo-silica substrate that circulated the whole bioneural network of the station, sustaining optimal conditions for the pseudocellular photoneuroids that served as the neurons of the station’s immense brain. 

Lucy reached as far as she could into the viscous, blue-green soup of the substrate, until the fluid reached up almost to her armpits, and her fingers touched the bottom of the tank. Somewhere down there, there was a faulty bicarbonate filter, she was ninety-nine percent certain. 

Hux didn’t believe her. Any damage to the filtration and recycling systems should have triggered an alert in the auto-repair circuit, and the auto-repair circuit had passed all its diagnostic tests with flying colors.

She’d wanted to take apart that circuit and see if she could spot something the diagnostic tests had missed, but Hux insisted that was impossible, and her “hunch” didn’t justify the risk to the integrity of the circuit. But she’d found calcite deposits in two separate bioneural nodes on this deck, and deterioration to photoneuroids in half a dozen others consistent with crystalline carbonate contamination. In Lucy’s estimate, that qualified her theory as more than a hunch, but Hux needed solid proof. And so, here she was, feeling around in a vat of slime, humming a half-forgotten melody, thinking about home.

“Tell me about your family,” said Hux.

“Why?” said Lucy. “You can just comb through my memories, can’t you?”

Hux shook his head. “I sorted through that data for useful information and purged the rest.”

“You  _ deleted  _ my memories?”

“Copies,” said Hux. “Just copies, obviously. Otherwise, you wouldn’t even remember that song you were just singing, would you?”

“I know, but still,” said Lucy. She shrugged. “If you were going to steal my memories, you could have at least kept them safe. It was weirdly comforting, thinking there was a backup copy out there.”

“That’s not weird,” said Hux. “The self-preservation instincts of sapient organics often drive them to create records of their lives. It’s the mechanism by which you perpetuate your tribal identity. And you needn’t worry. I only deleted the memories from my working memory. I still have stored backups. You’re too useful to this station.”

Lucy froze. “Wait… you mean, if something were to happen to me…”

“I’d simply clone you and reinstall your memories.”

She shuddered. Somehow, that was less comforting. “So even if I were to leave here one day…”

“You’ll always be a part of this station, even if this version of you is lost or leased.”

Lucy stewed on that notion for a moment. At the bottom of the vat, her fingers traced the contours of different filtration and recycling mechanisms, hunting for the distinctive shape of the bicarbonate filter.

“You never answered my question.”

“‘Tell me about your family’ isn’t a question, Hux, it’s a demand.”

“But you know I didn’t mean it that way. If you’re not comfortable…”

“There just isn’t much to tell. My parents were great. They raised me and my brothers in a nurturing environment, and we never questioned their love or devotion.”

“Were they part of Starfleet, too?”

Lucy chuckled. “No. They weren’t the type. My mom was an artist. My dad was a diver.”

“Ah, I see.” Hux’s brow furrowed. “What purpose does a diver serve in your society?”

Lucy laughed again. “None. It just sounds nicer than saying my parents were unemployed. All my life, whenever anyone asked about my parents, that’s the sort of answer I would give. ‘My dad’s a sailor, my mom’s a cook.’ Or, ‘My dad’s an oceanographer, and my mom provides daycare.’ There’s always a grain of truth to it; but the larger truth is, my parents never had jobs. They just had hobbies and lots of free time.”

“They weren’t  _ forced  _ to work? Surely, members of your society must be required to contribute to the common good.”

Lucy shook her head. “That’s the beauty of a free society. No one  _ has  _ to do anything.”

“But then, why doesn’t everyone live like your parents? They were able to devote all of their time to personal pursuits and give extra care and attention to their offspring.”

“And that was great when I was little. But the older I got, the more I heard the way people talked about us.”

“Ah,” Hux nodded. “I see. You faced stigma. Still, though…” 

“I always wondered why we couldn’t live on the beach,” said Lucy. “My dad was all about the ocean. Some of my fondest memories are of sailing with him on his boat. And we always talked about how we were going to move to the beach, just as soon as a house opened up. But somehow, it never seemed to happen. It wasn’t until I was nearly an adult that I realized, no architect wants to build a house for an unaccomplished family, and no one wants to give their house to non-contributors when they move out. We were always on the list for beachfront property, but we were always at the bottom. The same went for just about anything that couldn’t be pulled from a replicator.”

“A prestige-based economy,” said Hux. “How peculiar. It strikes me as inefficient in the extreme, and in a way, very primitive. No offense.”

“None taken,” said Lucy. “My people used to be as obsessed with money as you are. We outgrew it.”

Hux just offered a skeptical bark of laughter. 

“Anyway, that was a lot of the reason I joined Starfleet. After living in a house of slouches all my life, I was determined to work as hard as I could to make a name for myself that was above reproach.”

“Well, I imagine your family would be proud of what you’re accomplishing here.”

Lucy shook her head. “No human would see the value of restoring this old relic to working order, unless they had you poke around in their head the same way you did mine.”

“Why not? I suppose it goes against your non-interference philosophy, but other than that, I don’t see why anyone would object. You should have seen the Trade Hub at the height of its vigor, Lucy. The vast plurality of beings, organic, synthetic, and non-corporeal alike, visiting this place from all corners of the galaxy to conduct peaceful and unhindered trade. It was a triumph of diversity and civility over animosity and barbarism. Once we reestablish contact with the Delurididug Trade Federation and complete maintenance on the Travel Network, we’ll restore a great, unifying force to the galaxy. And if we’re quick, we might even finish our work in time to help your former colleagues on  _ Voyager  _ get back to their home, after all.”

“Well, that would be a nice plan, if it weren’t destined for disaster. Hux, if your Trade Federation still exists, then why have I never heard of it before? A galaxy-spanning power like the one you described would be hard to miss.”

Hux shrugged. “I don’t know, Lucy. I don’t have enough information to form a theory. But just because we haven’t maintained a presence in the tiny patch of galaxy that your Federation has explored, doesn’t mean we’ve died out everywhere else, too. I have no reason to think the Delurididug civilization isn’t still plugging away out there somewhere, even if it might be in a bit of a slump.”

Lucy’s fingers closed around a little disk-shaped component in the morass of parts, and she quickly went to work disconnecting it from the filtration system. She relied on her systems maintenance package to show her the way by touch.

“I’ve got it!”

“Well, bring it out here, and let’s have a look,” said Hux.

Lucy pulled her arms up out of the soupy slime, fluid dripping from her coated extremities onto the simple gray pants and tank top she was wearing. She shook her hands, splashing some of the excess fluid onto the deck, and noticed the earthy smell of it for the first time.

“Hey, I just realized, this is the same gunk I was doused with in that Aug-Tech machine.”

“True,” said Hux. “It sustains your implants the same way it sustains my bioneural network.”

Lucy stared at the slime on her arms. “Right, of course,” she said. “My implants are bioneural, too. I’ve got this fluid running in my veins.”

Hux scoffed. “That would hardly make anatomical sense. The implants do create a little organo-silica substrate, and they do pass the stuff throughout your body, but they don’t use your  _ veins _ . Mostly, they pump it through biosynthetic tubules in your lymph system.”

Lucy remained transfixed by the slime, picturing it coursing through her whole body in a mesh of threads, like fungal roots, like a systemic, parasitic organism that had made itself part of her body. “I’m not… fully human,” she said. She flicked some more of the slime off her hands and started wiping them on the bulkhead to get them clean.

“Hey, you can clean up in a bit. Let’s get a look at that filter.”

Lucy stopped and took a shaky breath, making an effort to shake off her momentary disgust. “Right. Ok. I’m coming out.”

Lucy crawled back down the service crawlway to the corridor and rose to her feet, holding out the filter for Hux’s inspection. Hux looked her up and down for a second, and Lucy smiled to reassure him. She was a bit of a mess, but she wasn’t freaking out, wasn’t malfunctioning. It had just been kind of an unsettling realization, that was all. Hux just quirked his head dismissively and turned his attention to the filter.

He held out his hand, and an invisible tractor beam from the bulkhead lifted the filter out of Lucy’s hand.

“Why do you always make a show of reaching for things you can’t really touch?” said Lucy.

Hux shrugged. “Behavioral quirks and stylistic flourishes are a part of my program. It helps organics relate to my actions.”

The filter began vibrating under the oscillating frequency of the tractor emitter, and the slime coating the device quickly shook free, hovering around the filter for a moment before falling to the deck. The filter was left looking polished and clean.

“Who knew you had a mobile sonic shower?” said Lucy.

Hux just flashed a weak smile and kept his attention trained on the filter. His brow furrowed as he studied the device.

“Have a look at this,” he said, and he threw up a hologram with a wave of his free hand, displaying a highly magnified view of a small part of the filter.

Lucy could see distinct pitting all across the surface of a delicate-looking metal component within the device. She consulted the blueprint of the filter from her systems maintenance package and confirmed that the pitting wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Well, I guess you know what that means,” said Lucy.

“Indeed,” said Hux.

“I told you so,” said Lucy. She smiled and crossed her arms over her chest in an effort to look smug, but she just wound up coating her top in organo-silica substrate, and Hux did not seem impressed. Just worried.

He held up the device to Lucy. “This means the auto-repair circuit is malfunctioning,” he said.

Lucy nodded. “Uh huh. Didn’t I say?”

“And that means the auto-repair diagnostics system is malfunctioning,” said Hux, “Or else I would have known that already.”

Lucy shrugged. “Well, what maintains the auto-repair diagnostic system?”

The concern on Hux’s face intensified. “The Central Network Array.”

“So that’s malfunctioning too, I guess.”

Hux nodded. “And so is the Central Network Auditor, which should have caught that malfunction.”

“And what monitors malfunctions in the Central Network Auditor?” said Lucy.

“The Central Network Array again,” said Hux. “It’s the executive center of the station. It oversees all station subsystems, including me.”

“So… How do we fix it?” said Lucy.

Hux shook his head. “That’s above my pay grade. If the Auditor can’t repair the Array, and the Array can’t repair the Auditor, then there’s no way to fix the station beyond the current plateau, except to find outside help.”

“I thought that was why you kidnapped  _ me _ ,” said Lucy. “I’ll find a way to fix it.”

Hux shook his head. “I’ll have to go offline while the Array is under repair. You won’t be able to work on it without my help.”

“ _ Sure _ I will,” said Lucy. “I’m reviewing the systems maintenance package right now. I’ve got detailed designs on the CNA…” Details of a thousand network subsystems presented themselves to her conscious mind. She turned her attention to one at a time, only to find that each was built on countless millions of interconnected bioneural circuits spanning dozens of different bioneural nodes in labyrinthine meta-structural webs. “Wow. That is a big and complicated system, isn’t it?”

Hux sighed. “Alright. Here’s how we’ll proceed: first, we’ll disassemble the auto-repair circuit and identify the nature of the malfunction. There is a very small chance that it’s simply something that the auto-repair diagnostics system couldn’t detect. If so, then we simply make the repairs and work out an upgrade for the diagnostic system to catch the mistake in the future. Otherwise, we’ll need to take apart the diagnostic system to figure out why it isn’t doing its job.

“There is an even smaller chance that the diagnostic system might be damaged in some subtle way that eludes the CNA. If so, great. We fix it, and the CNA learns from the experience. But, if not…”

“Then I’ll spend every waking moment studying my maintenance package on the CNA until I’m an expert.”

“And I’ll help you, however I can.”

Lucy nodded. “Ok, let’s get to work.” She took a step, but Hux held out a restraining arm.

“Hey, not so fast!” said Hux. “The problem’s not going anywhere, you don’t need to rush.”

“Well, the system’s not going to fix itself, is it? Or I wouldn’t be here.” Lucy stepped forward, passing through Hux’s intangible form.

“Would you take a moment and look at yourself, Lucy?” said Hux.

Lucy looked down, remembering the slime smeared all over her arms and parts of her clothing. “Oh yeah.” She turned back to Hux. “Why don’t you just do that trick you did on the bicarbonate filter and vibrate it all off?” She spread her arms wide and closed her eyes.

“Why don’t you save yourself the discomfort and go take a sonic shower?” said Hux. “Better yet, take the rest of the day off. Visit the beach, spend time with a personality other than mine.”

Lucy opened her eyes again and rolled them at Hux. “They’re all you,” she said. “You think I don’t get that?”

Hux shook his head. “I’m just a set of directives and an adaptive personality subroutine. They’re much more elaborate and more familiar to you. I don’t control them.”

“Ksh. Even if that were true, they aren’t  _ real _ . It’s a waste of time.”

“You’ve spent plenty of your free time on your ‘holodecks,’ haven’t you? I don’t understand why this is so different.”

“The holodeck was never meant to sub in for genuine social interactions. I can’t form emotional connections to hollow shells that vanish when I’m not looking at them, and who have even less free will than  _ I  _ do.”

“Sure you can. You were rather fond of your holographic doctor, weren’t you?”

Lucy shook her head. “The Doctor is different.”

Hux smiled knowingly. “Oh? How so?”

Lucy looked at him for a moment. No good answer sprang to mind, so she just shook her head and changed the subject. “I’m not tired.”

“Maybe not, but you had a spike in cortisol a minute ago, and I’m concerned your work could be compromised by stress. I want you fresh before I let you touch the auto-repair circuit.”

Lucy sighed. “Fine. I’ll take a shower and get some R&R. I don’t need any ‘company,’ though.” 

Hux just shrugged, and Lucy marched off.

~~ -o-o-o- ~~

Lucy stepped out of her hybrid hydro-sonic shower, all traces of blue-green slime washed away from the outside of her body. She slipped into her silk robe and hopped onto her bed, rested her head on the pillow and stared up into the rafters, taking a moment to relax and listen to the manufactured sounds of nature that permeated her little habitat.

_ > station:> query access :: holographic controls _

_ > station/holographic controls:> project :: host/systems maintenance/specifications/central network array {all files} _

By sending a few mental commands to the station’s automated system, Lucy could use the room’s holographic emitters to project the CNA’s specs into the air over her bed. She could flip through the blueprints, zoom, rotate, and pan through 3D models, and sort through multi-layered diagrams purely by thought. 

Lucy occupied herself studying the heart of the computer’s A.I. this way until her eyes grew heavy, and she decided to let them rest for a moment.

“You don’t have to work this hard, you know.”

Lucy opened her eyes. The air over her bed was still cluttered with schematics for the bioneural network architecture under review for the new  _ Prometheus  _ class starship. She willed the holoprojections out of existence and looked for the man who had just spoken. 

Owen stood just outside of her cabana, on the wooden bridge that spanned the tangled vegetation and sand dunes between the cabana and the beach, resting his weight on the low gate that served as Lucy’s front door.

“You’re  _ supposed  _ to be on vacation, remember?”

“Did you just get back?” said Lucy. She squinted at Owen for a moment, trying to puzzle out what was wrong with this scenario. Why was she vaguely surprised to see him? He was wearing his Starfleet Golds, which made sense. He’d been called back from their extended shore leave a few days ago to serve on an escort run to the Gamma Hydra sector. 

Owen nodded. “It was a milk run. The galaxy’s quiet, these days.”

Lucy smirked. “Why do you sound disappointed about that?”

Owen chuckled. “Good question.” He reached over the railing to open the latch on the gate, and he stepped inside.

Lucy rose out of bed to greet him. She stepped into his open arms and rested her head against his shoulder for a long moment, soaking up his warmth. He smelled like an old starship; warm duranium and ozone, making Lucy nostalgic for life back on  _ Voyager. _ She stood on her tiptoes and planted a peck on his lips, then stepped back.

“Do you want a coffee? Tea?  _ Raktajino _ ?” She asked as she headed towards the kitchen nook and the replicator.

“A mint seltzer sounds about right,” said Owen. 

Lucy ordered a seltzer and an Italian soda from the replicator and turned around to find Owen sitting at the coffee table, pulling off his boots.

“Leave those on,” said Lucy. “Let’s head down to the beach. I feel like I’ve been cooped up in this cabin for weeks.”

Owen shrugged. “Yeah, alright… you sure you don’t want to change into swimsuits, though?”

“Nah. A short walk is all I need. We can talk and unwind a little. Then we can come back here, get some food, and…” Lucy nodded towards the bed. 

Owen’s gaze tracked from her to the bed, and then a sly smile crossed his face. “Sounds like a plan to me,” he said. “Were you… going to get dressed before we went, or…”

Lucy looked down and remembered she was still wearing her silk bathrobe. The tie was barely fastened, revealing more cleavage than she would have been comfortable showing to pretty much anyone but Owen. “Oh! Right. Just give me a sec.”

Lucy snatched a sundress out of her armoire and ducked into the one private space in the cabin, the refresher, to change.

“So, were you just hanging around in a bathrobe the  _ whole _ time I was gone, or…” said Owen. He didn’t need to raise his voice or come near the door; the “walls” of the refresher were just a paper curtain in a wooden frame.

“I took a shower a little bit ago,” said Lucy. She slid out of her robe and hung it over the top of the wall, then slipped the dress over her head and let the light, yellow fabric fall into place. “You should have seen me before. Hux had me armpit deep in organo-silica…” Lucy froze, a terrible realization dawning on her.

“Have you visited that waterfall over there since I left?” said Owen.

Lucy stormed out of her refresher, pointing at the gate. “Get out,” she said.

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m not doing this! Go! Now!”

“Lucy…”

Lucy turned away from Owen and spoke up into the air. “Ok, get rid of him. I told you, I wasn’t in the mood for ‘company.’ This isn’t doing anything to relieve my stress now, is it?”

Behind her, Owen spoke up. “Ok, Lucy, I’ll go, but just listen…” 

Lucy marched up to Owen and slapped his combadge. “One to beam up!” And she pushed him with both hands, forcefully, back against the railing. Owen stared at her in utter shock. In spite of herself, the pained look in his eyes filled her heart with guilt. Lucy just flashed a bitter smile and waved goodbye as a transporter beam dissolved him back to wherever he’d come from.

Lucy turned around and jumped back onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow and contemplating the big empty space inside of her that should have been filling with sorrow, right about now. What possessed Hux to keep parading these shadows from her past around her? She was running out of ways to explain how unnerving it was, how lonely it made her. And burying the things in pseudo-conscious mental simulations didn’t make it any better.

“Did you have to be that hard on him?”

Lucy turned her head to the left, and there was Tom Paris, sitting in her rocking chair by her bed. He regarded her with his hands folded in front of him, elbows resting on his knees.

“Yes,” said Lucy. “He isn’t real. Neither are you. This is all just… shadow puppet theater.”

“You’re wrong,” said Tom. “He  _ is  _ real. And you really do hurt him when you treat him that way.”

Lucy just rolled her eyes and then rolled over, putting her back to the phantom of Tom Paris.

“Look, Kang…” Tom stood and circled around Lucy’s bed as he spoke. “I’m not everything that the flesh-and-blood Tom is. And I’m not… as  _ much _ as you are. But what there is of me, it’s real.”

Lucy shook her head. “The station didn’t record Tom Paris’s memory or personality. Whatever you are, it’s just based off his  _ picture _ , nothing more.”

Tom considered her words for a second. “No, they had a lot more to work from than just my image _. _ They had molecular scans of my brain from when I passed through that scanner at the entrance. That’s not enough to see my memories or read my mind, but it’s a pretty solid foundation for profiling my personality. They also had my complete service record, educational background, criminal history, five days of personal and duty logs, all of your memories and impressions of me, and almost two hours of watching me in action on this station. That may not be enough to capture a man’s soul, but it’s plenty to create a new one a lot like his.”

“You don’t have a soul.”

“What’s in a soul? I think, therefore I am, right? Well, here I am. I’m not just running a script and carrying out some subroutines. I’m  _ here _ . I  _ feel. _ ” 

“Then that’s even worse! A thinking being created for the sole purpose of manipulating me? Don’t you think that’s sad and wrong?”

Tom shrugged. “I can’t help what I am, but I choose my actions for myself. Hux asked me to keep you company, and I agreed. What’s so wrong with that? And how is that an unworthy existence for a self-aware simulation?”

Lucy let out a bark of laughter. “Tom Paris, arguing for the right to live as a half-conscious self-parody and a slave.”

Tom’s face went taut. “You know, you can be a real piece of work.”

Lucy rolled onto her back and stared up into the rafters. “Well then, you can just leave me to do my work in peace,” she said. “I’ll call you if I’m ever desperate enough to spend my life in a state of self-delusion.”

Tom said nothing. After a long moment, Lucy looked around, and Tom was gone. 

And so was the gate and bridge leading down to the beach. In the real habitat, there was no bridge, only the lift pad in the center of the room. Lucy preferred the lift. At least it  _ went _ somewhere.

Lucy climbed out of bed, wary of slipping into another semi-conscious simulation, and sat at her desk. She called up the same blueprints and schematics she’d been looking at before and assigned one to each screen over her desk, and she threw herself back into her work. The Central Network Array was what mattered. She didn’t want to think about anything else.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter the FFC Hypereia, a faster-than-light sail ship caught in a storm and flying out of control. Can Captain Solaad bring his crew through safe and sound?

CHAPTER 4

Captain Solaad of the  _ FFS Hypereia _ lurched from one unsteady foot to the other, his four-fingered hands clutching the guidelines that lined the bulkheads of the narrow corridor, bracing himself against every sudden lurch and sickening drop of the deck beneath his feet.

“Get that rudder under control, Movek!” he shouted into his earpiece.

“The sheer force is too strong!” came Movek’s terrified reply. In the background of his transmission, the buzzsaw whine of massive electric motors being taxed beyond their limits nearly drowned out his voice. “The servos can’t stand up to it!”

Solaad tightened his grip on the handholds and lurched forward again, one more step down the corridor. 

“I’ve told you a dozen times, Captain, those servos wouldn’t cut it in a serious storm! But did you ever listen?” shouted Movek.

“Movek…” Solaad said reproachfully. 

“No! Why listen to Movek? He’s just the rudder operator! What would  _ he  _ know about flippin’ rudders?!”

“Not the time, Movek! Save it for the crew lounge! Right now, I need you working the problem in front of you.”

The ship strafed suddenly to port, slamming Captain Solaad against the bulkhead on his left. The cool ceramic bruised the quills that crested his skull and bashed his left ear, causing a painful ringing that filled his head. He made an effort to shake off the pain and keep making his way down the corridor.

“Agachi, sitrep! How’s it going with those sails?”  he called.

For a moment, Agachi didn’t reply, and Solaad feared the worst. Then his radio crackled to life, and he heard Agachi’s strained voice, slightly attenuated by digital distortion from the radiation of the raging ion storm. “The bearings’ve seized up, Cap’n! That’ll be why the cranks ain’t crankin’, I’d expect!”

“Can you fix it?”

“Sure! Just give me a couple weeks in dry dock and some halfway-decent new ball bearings, an’ I’ll have ‘em right as--” The ship took another hard jolt, down against the direction of thrust, giving Solaad half a tick of gut-churning weightlessness before the ship’s ion thrusters forcefully reasserted themselves. “AAAAARGHHHHahahaa, that was a right doozy, that one!” called Agachi. She sounded simultaneously terrified and excited. Solaad shuttered to think what the Hald’pii engineer was going through out there, lashed to the spines of the portside tachyon sail, nothing but her spacesuit between her and the void.

“Just do whatever you can to reel in that sail!” called Solaad, “Intact, if at all possible.”

“Aye, Cap’n!” replied Agachi. “I’ll fold ‘em up with my bare talons, if’n I have to!” She cracked up laughing like a woman possessed.

“How that crazy bird’s survived this long, only Neptis knows,” Solaad grumbled to himself, and he took a few more careful steps, finally reaching the end of the corridor and the claustrophobic entrance to the central hydraulic lift.

“Captain?” his first mate’s smooth drawl belied the dire nature of his report. “I’m not liking this charge gradient we’re climbing. If we can’t slip this tachyon stream soon, I’ve a hunch we’ll be in for more than a few little bumps.”

Solaad stepped into the lift and cranked the bright blue lever by the door, and with a pneumatic hiss, the cylindrical lift car started its long climb towards  _ Hypereia _ ’s central core, which housed the ship’s fusion generator, the ion fractionators, the EPS relays, the primary servos, and the sail controls.

“Thanks for the heads up, Rajak,” said the captain. “We wouldn’t want any turbulence. It might frighten the passengers!”

He heard Rajak chuckle over the comm, and then the ship took another hit, and Solaad found himself being tossed around the lift like a bean in a baby rattle. Reflexively, he flattened all his quills against his scalp, folded his arms over his chest, and tucked his legs up as much as possible, trying his best to absorb the impact and bounce softly each time the twisting spindle of the lift shaft threw him against the wall, the ceiling, or the floor.

It only lasted a few ticks, and it left him curled up in a ball on the floor of the lift, still making progress up the central mast towards the core. He ran his fingers through his quills, checking for broken cartilage and abrasions in the thin supporting appendages, and feeling for cracked keratin in the long, gently-curved spines. Then he dusted off his elbows and his knees, laced his fingers together to crack his knuckles, and popped his neck side-to-side. He was a little roughed up, but nothing a little of Agachi’s coolant hooch wouldn’t remedy.

Solaad drew his mobile out of its pouch on his hip, but the screen refused to light up. Evidently, it hadn’t fared the turbulence quite as well as he had. Solaad cursed and dropped the device back in the pouch, then turned to the wall-mounted terminal of the lift and punched in his access code. 

He tapped his earpiece twice, syncing the device to the lift terminal instead of his busted mobile, and he called, “All quarters, sound off. Let’s get those damage reports in and get back to work! No time to lick our wounds, here, come on!”

As he spoke, he called up the ship’s damage assessment diagram on the lift terminal, which was actively compiling input from the crew throughout the ship. The diagram displayed a simplified schematic of the ship, which looked something like a butterfly impaled on a dart. The core was a sphere, sitting at the nexus of two expansive, bifurcated, wing-like sails. Perpendicular to the sails, the long central mast passed through the heart of the core section, reaching up towards the spade-shaped deflector cone of the ship, and down towards the drum-shaped habitation section, with its twin, fin-shaped rudders branching off to either side, and its three massive, bell-shaped ion thrusters below it, giving the ship a constant upward thrust to serve in the place of gravity and acting as a secondary means of propulsion when the sails failed to catch a stellar breeze or a tachyon current.

Solaad watched as each section of the ship lit up, most of them yellow, indicating no serious damage or injuries. The dorsal half of the port-side sail started flashing blue, indicating a serious operating failure, as did both rudders, but that was old news. Agachi and Movek were each working their respective difficulties--at least, Solaad hoped.

The last section to remain dark was the garden, situated on the ventral quarter of the foremost habitation deck.

“How’s it going out there, people?” said Solaad. “Movek? Agachi? Oop’tu?”

“Still here, Cap’n!” called Agachi, “Somehow! Fer a mite there, I figured the port-dorsal mast’d snap clean off, but Ilian engineering’s won the day again, by Jovis!”

“Great. Movek?”

“We’re still  _ shek _ -outta luck on these servos, Captain, nothing’s changed there. But other than that…”

“Fantastic,” Solaad cut him off. “Oop’tu?”

He was answered by a whisper-soft howl of radiation distortion, and nothing more. The lift rose up into the central core. The first doorway it passed opened onto the sloped bulkheads of the outer hull, where spin control was managed when the ship was on the float. He stayed in the lift and kept ascending.

“Oop’tu?” Solaad said again.

Still silence. He punched in a few commands, and his terminal switched to video footage of the garden deck.

The room was a complete wreck. Loose soil and uprooted plants littered the whole deck over top of the webbing that was supposed to be keeping everything secure during turbulence. The low catwalk that spanned the deck had lost a support cable, and now it sloped sideways in the middle. One of the twelve simulated-sunlight lamps that fed the room was dangling loosely in the corner, showering the room with sparks, while water from a damaged sprinkler soaked the opposite corner of the garden. A dead  _ quillcock _ lay in the dirt, evidently having escaped the safety of his cage.

And Oop’tu was nowhere to be found. Solaad continued studying the chaotic mess on his screen, searching in vain for a sign of his missing horticulturist, up until the lift arrived at the next doorway--manual sail control. He grabbed the blue lever and cranked it back up, bringing the lift to a stop.

“Hey Doc, you got a moment to check on Oop’tu? He’s either away from his post or down in the bushes,” he called on the radio.

“I’m not that kind of doctor, Solaad,” said Dr. Haxle. He sounded annoyed to be bothered with something so trivial, as if the ship blazing out-of-control through an ion storm at fifteen times the speed of light was none of his concern. 

“We don’t  _ have _ that kind of doctor, Haxle, and you’re the only member of this crew with nothing better to do right now, so get on it, or send one of your minions with a first aid kit, at the very least!”

Haxle sighed heavily into his comm.

“Thanks, Doc. And be careful in the corridors. We could take another hit like that at any time.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Solaad. You just work on reining in this hunk of junk so I can get back to my work.”

Captain Solaad stepped out of the lift into the wide, hemispherical sail control room, where the deck sloped up and up until it became the bulkhead, and then arched back, high overhead, to become the deckhead. The bulkhead was lined with padded ladder rungs and handholds, and looming not far over Solaad’s head, the clockwork morass of the sail controls filled the room. Hydraulic pumps, interlocked gears, and bulky titanium-alloy belts joining minuscule spindles to massive wheels did the work of maneuvering the sails, and a network of narrow catwalks and rickety ladders provided access to the inner workings. An engineer wouldn’t necessarily need to be a bird to make her way around up there, but it couldn’t hurt. 

Down on deck level, two tiers of computer banks on a split-level platform joined by stairways turned the fishbowl shape of the room into a usable space. Three deckhands were scrambling around from computer to computer, always one hand gripping a handhold set into the equipment to keep from tumbling with each fresh tremor that coursed through the ship.

Several of the computer monitors offered stark views of the sail against a backdrop of outer space, distorted by the tachyon stream so that the stars looked like streaks of light. The forward face of the sail was mottled gray and brown, dotted with yellow running lights and magnetically charged Bussard collectors along the structural spars that supported the sturdy fabric of the sail like veins in a leaf. The aft face of the sail glowed an ominous violet, radiating the waste heat of the fusion reactor into the void in the form of high-energy photons.

Hardly visible as a speck of shadow against the vast, glowing sail, Agachi clung to the second-highest dorsal spar near the central joint, doing her best to find a way of collapsing the damaged sail in the middle of a raging storm.

“Agachi, I’m at sail control,” said Solaad.

The deckhands whirled around at the sound of his voice, looking alarmed at the sudden presence of the captain. He waved them back to work.

“Hey, Cap’n!” said Agachi. “Welcome to the show! Might as well make yerself comfortable. We’re just gettin’ to the good part!”

“I didn’t come all the way up here just to watch, featherhead. Where are we at with that sail?”

“Well… Ah’ve just about got it loose, Cap’n, but reelin’ it in en’t gonna be easy. The bearings’re all shot to  _ shek.  _ Foldin’ this ol’ blanket’s gonna generate more friction than a Lafimas goin’ down on a sandy Refflik!”

Solaad cringed at the lurid image Agachi had just painted in his head. “Will the machinery stand up to it?”

“It’ll be a fine stress test for the hydraulics, the mast, and the spars, that’s fer sure, but they oughta bear up ok, just this once. As for the servos, though…”

“Let’s give it a shot,” said Solaad. “I’ll rejig the riggings, and we’ll bring it in nice and slow.”

“Aye, Cap’n. I’ll give the word when I’m ready.”

“You two!” Solaad called to two of the deckhands. He knew their names, but they weren’t springing to mind at the moment, and he had bigger problems on his plate. “Help me rejig the rigging! We need every drop of torque we can muster!”

“Aye sir!” they barked, and they stumbled over the quaking deck, up the stairs to the wall-mounted ladders, and started climbing. Solaad contemplated climbing up into the machinery over his head in the midst of this turbulence, and his stomach did backflips, but there wasn’t much of a choice at this point. 

He lurched across the room towards the stairs, and then Rajak’s voice sounded on his comm.

“Hey Captain, we’re getting some funny readings from the tachyon field.”

“Funny how, Rajak?” said Solaad.

“Well, the field’s widening and slowing just a little bit, and we’re starting to hit some backwash.”

Solaad paused to digest what Rajak was saying. A powerful jolt shook the deck, and Solaad went down on one knee. One of the deckhands climbing the wall lost his grip on the ladder and fell half a  _ flartag _ to the deck, shaken but unharmed.

Solaad shook his head and pushed himself back to his feet. “It can’t be what it looks like,” he said with confidence.

“Here’s the thing, though, Captain… I think it  _ is _ ,” said Rajak. “There’s really no mistaking it. Backscatter index is at about point-oh-eight and climbing, and the tachyon eddies are getting more turbulent and frequent.”

“There’s not a gravity well bigger than a brown dwarf within two light-years, Rajak! And Neptis is forty light-years spinward!”

“I know, Captain, but if you could see the numbers… we’re definitely coming up on a bend, and it’s looking  _ sharp. _ ”

Solaad shook his head in disbelief. Tachyon currents tended to wend their way through the Argus Cluster in long, sweeping arcs that spanned dozens of light-years, conforming loosely to the gravitational field lines of the region’s cosmography. Sudden bends and turns in the current were unheard of, except in close proximity to massive gravitational bodies, like the black holes of Jovis, Neptis, and Plutis, or near the Argivian Soliton Artifacts.

“Could it be a stray Artifact?” said Solaad. 

“Neptis knows, Captain, but we’re coming up on it  _ fast _ . I don’t think you’ll have enough time to rejig and collapse that sail before we hit it!”

Solaad thought furiously for a moment. “How much longer do we have?” he said.

“By my models… six to eight  _ spinns _ .”

“Well,  _ shek, _ ” said Solaad, all his half-formed ideas turning to dust. “Not even time enough to smoke one last  _ tega  _ leaf, huh?”

“Well,” said Rajak, “Maybe if you bought ‘em pre-rolled…”

Solaad snorted. “I’d sooner die.”

Rajak chuckled, but there was no mistaking the grim fear in his laugh.

“Hey, Cap’n,” piped in Agachi, “Not to interrupt y’all’s gallows humor, but how ‘bout we focus on pullin’ outta this dive before we smack headfirst into the glass?”

“I’m open to ideas,” said Solaad.

“Simple,” said Agachi, “We  _ turn! _ ”

Solaad’s brow furrowed. “What, and strafe the boundary of the tachyon stream? We’ll be smeared across thirty light-turns!”

“We don’t  _ strafe  _ the boundary, we hit it head on!”

“But how? At this angle--”

“The angle’s fixin’ to change, remember, Cap’n?”

Solaad scratched his smooth chin thoughtfully. He looked up and saw the deckhands suspended on a wobbly catwalk, clinging to a pair of guidelines for dear life as they ventured deeper into the clockworks of manual sail control. “Hold off on those riggings!” he called up to them. They froze and looked down at him, alarmed at the sudden reversal of their orders.

“Rajak, can you plot the angle and timing of the bend yet?”

“I’m still collecting data, Captain, but I’m starting to get a picture.”

“How soon can you plot an escape trajectory? One which leaves the port-side sail where it is.”

Solaad heard his first mate let out a doubtful huff of breath. “Not until we’re pretty much on top of the turn, Captain. We’re pretty much going to have to wing it.”

Solaad had a sinking sensation. Rajak was a good navigator, and he worked well with Movek and the sail control team, but improvising a sharp, cross-current turn out of a tachyon field on the fly…

Solaad did his best to swallow his sense of impending doom and started barking orders. “Rajak, cut thrust to one-quarter gee! All hands, strap in the best you can and brace for emergency maneuvers! Divert starboard sail control to the port-side sail terminals, I’ll handle it myself! Movek, I want rudder control at any cost!”

“We’re sure to burn up the rudder servos completely, Captain, but I can get you a few seconds of good use before it happens. Maybe,  _ just  _ maybe, it’ll last us long enough to tackle this insanity, but I can’t make any--”

“Just do it, Movek,” said Solaad. 

The rumble in the ship decreased almost imperceptibly as Rajak cut the thrust, and suddenly, everything was lighter. The deckhands up on the catwalk braced themselves and hopped down from their perch, descending gracefully the two  _ flartags _ back to the deck at a quarter gee and making their way towards terminals with gimbal-stabilized chairs where they could strap in safely. Solaad lurched his way over to the nearest terminal as well, his decreased weight making him bounce off the deck with every step as the ground continually bucked against him. When he reached the terminal, he dropped into the accompanying gimbal-stabilized chair and strapped himself in with the seat’s three-point harness.

“Agachi, are you gonna be ok out there?”

“Don’t worry about me, Cap’n,” said Agachi. “I’ve fashioned a cozy little nest out here tucked between a couple spars. I just wish I was in there to guide the sails for this stunt. Sounds like fun!”

“Fun,” Solaad echoed, “Sure.”

He went to work on the touch-screen interface of his terminal, asserting control over the starboard sail rig and calling up Rajak’s flight plan-in-progress, which was mapped over a constantly evolving projection of the upcoming bend in the tachyon current. Rajak had plotted a corkscrew turn, bringing the  _ Hypereia  _ more and more out of alignment with the tachyon flow while steering clear of the dangerous field gradient at the boundaries of the current. Dead ahead, according to the projections, they faced an uncanny eighty-six-degree pivot in the tachyon stream, but that number was still evolving. Solaad watched for the space of a few breaths as the projections of the bend shifted and Rajak’s flight plan raced to keep up with the changes, and then suddenly, they were out of time.

As the  _ Hypereia  _ entered the turbulent backwash from the upcoming turn, the constant quaking of the ship ramped up precipitously, bucking and jolting continually. If Solaad hadn’t been strapped in, he would have been flung clear up into the clockworks and slammed back into the deck repeatedly. As it was, he barely managed to cling to the handholds on either side of his terminal and keep his view on the ship’s course.

“Now’s the time, Rajak! Let’s make it happen!” He yelled over the bone-shaking groan of the machinery around him as it flexed and shifted under the incredible stresses being exerted on the spaceframe of the  _ Hypereia _ . Solaad prayed to Jovis for his grace, Neptis for her mercy, and Plutis for forbearance as Rajak began calling out his orders. The final simulation on Solaad’s screen showed the path of the  _ Hypereia  _ hitting the boundary of the tachyon stream at too shallow an angle. The last computer projection of the tachyon stream threw everything off--the stream didn’t bend at eighty-six degrees, but ninety-two, which should have been beyond the realm of possibility, and yet, there it was. 

“Rudders to minus eight degrees, starboard sail to eighty-five percent mast!” called Rajak.

The simulation called for minus six degrees on the rudder. Rajak was trying to eyeball the correct course from the failed simulation, and Solaad could only hope the gods would smile on his seat-of-his-pants navigating. 

Solaad dialed the commands into his terminal to lower the starboard sail, and then the ship entered a corkscrew spin, and the centripetal acceleration swiveled Solaad around in his gimbaled chair, away from his terminal. He grasped behind his seat for his handhold, finding it with the tips of his fingers.

“Starboard sail to half mast in three…” said Rajak. Solaad clung to the handhold and pulled for all he was worth.

“Two…” said Rajak.

Solaad felt his rotator cuff shifting and tearing in his shoulder, but he forced himself to ignore the pain and just pull. By degrees, he was able to drag his seat back around on its axis towards his terminal, but he wasn’t making it fast enough.

“One! Go!” shouted Rajak, but Solaad was still struggling to right his chair. He swapped hands on the handhold once he was able to reach and pulled himself all the way back into forward position.

“Captain, now!” Rajak shouted, sounding almost panicked. Solaad slapped the mast toggle and swiped down on the slider, bringing the sail in to forty-eight percent mast. It took twenty-four nerve-wracking ticks for the sail to close, during which time the spin on the  _ Hypereia  _ increased steadily as its corkscrew rotation tightened, angling the nose of the deflector cone at the bank of the tachyon current and ultimately plowing into the gradient at as close to a perpendicular angle as their clumsy, broken vessel could possibly manage.

A mighty jolt coursed through the ship, the world was filled with the ear-splitting cry of heavy titanium plates shearing apart at the rivets, and everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy makes a new friend and gets ready to take on her greatest challenge yet!

CHAPTER 5

“And what if the tertiary engrammatic iterator suffers a metacognitive substitution error in its self-predictive subroutine?” said Lucy.

Lucy’s brow furrowed in concentration as she considered the question. “If the tertiary engrammatic iterator… Trick question. The engrammatic iterators are only divided into primary and secondary egotistical nodes. In the primary node, you just want to leave it alone. It’ll figure itself out before long. In the secondary, you want to reverse the nodes’ priority protocols and, again, let it figure itself out.”

Lucy favored Lucy with a sly smile. Her dark eyes darted to the index card in her hand and back to Lucy. With a shrug, she flicked the card over her shoulder, and it vanished in a puff of photons. A fresh card materialized in her thin fingers, and she read out the card without missing a beat. “Ok, smartypants. How would you correct a lesion in the axon-optic bundle of the primary exo-emergent processing node?”

“Hmm…” Lucy sat forward in her chair, balancing her chin on her steepled fingers as she worked through the question. The other Lucy settled back in the sofa, confident that she would have a minute to relax before her counterpart came up with a good solution.

“I’d start by rerouting the datastream through the auxiliary nodes…”

“Obviously,” said Lucy.

Lucy cast her an annoyed look. Was  _ she  _ this smug?

“Then, I’d feed a pre-programmed plasmid solution into the organo-silica medium to bridge the lesion. From there, it’s just a simple matter of feeding the right growth factors and metabolic substrates in the right sequence to rebuild the bundle.”

“Which are?”

Lucy bit her lip. “First, OGF-3… then Phospholipid Complex… then OGF-1… Amino Complex-1, OGF-2, and Quantum Resonator Complex lambda.” Lucy nodded in satisfaction. “So long as the spines are intact on the photoreactive dendrites, all the neuroid fibers should be able to find their way back to the appropriate synapses without a problem.”

The other Lucy quirked a skeptical eyebrow. “And when the whole Network Array then starts sprouting fibers at random?”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Well, I’d isolate the damaged node before feeding in the substrates, obviously!”

Other Lucy shrugged. “But you didn’t  _ say _ that!”

Lucy pulled the throw pillow out from behind her back and chucked it at her. The other Lucy threw her hands up defensively, but the pillow passed through her harmlessly and landed on the sofa.

Other Lucy shifted her position so the pillow didn’t clip through her lower back and cast a glowering look at Lucy. “Rude.”

A chime sounded from the middle of the room, and then Hux’s disembodied voice filled the air. “Is this a good time, Lucy?”

Lucy sighed. She’d asked him to announce himself before entering her quarters and not spy on her in private, and he’d agreed. She was sure the station still monitored her every movement, but at least the Hux persona wasn’t watching every time she made a trip to the ‘fresher. “Sure, Hux. Come on up.”

Hux appeared in the center of the lift pad facing Lucy’s desk. He turned around and spotted Lucy-- _ both _ Lucy’s--lounging in the sitting area. He approached slowly, scrutinizing the holographic Lucy on the sofa. “Hello, Misses Kang.”

He stood over the other Lucy, who stared up at him, smiling. She made a mock-surprised face and offered a cheeky wave.

She looked how Lucy had looked when she’d first come aboard the station: she was bony and flat, she wore her straight black hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she was wearing her Starfleet Science Officer uniform, complete with a single bronze pip on the collar.

“Hi, Hux. How’s it going?” said the real Lucy. “Can I get you anything? A holographic tonic, maybe?”

“Where did she come from?” said Hux.

“What,” said Lucy, feigning innocence, “You didn’t send her here?”

Hux looked alarmed for just a split-second. “Oh. Ha, ha,” he said without humor. “How did you do it? A.I. design isn’t a part of your maintenance package, nor is it one of your skill sets.”

“So, I adapted,” said Lucy. “Aaand, I took apart Jeffrey.”

“Come again?” said Hux.

“Crewman Thorold? I found where you stored all the doppelgangers from  _ Voyager _ , took apart the Jeffrey hologram, and learned how it worked.”

“You  _ killed  _ a holographic recreation of a crewmate?” said Hux, seemingly aghast.

Lucy waved off the objection. “I didn’t kill him; he was never  _ alive _ . I checked its activity log, and you’d never even run its program before.”

“Makes you think, doesn’t it?” said the holo-Lucy. “Is a life really a  _ life  _ if it’s literally never  _ lived _ ?”

“No,” said Lucy. “Especially not when you’re talking about one that can be recreated at any time, down to the smallest detail, from base components.”

Hux pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and shook his head. “It’s not as easy as all that, you know. You undid the work of a hundred and seventy terahertz-hours, just to make this…” Hux gestured emphatically at the holographic Lucy, looking for the right description. “rudimentary holo-puppet!”

“Hey!” holo-Lucy objected.

“Well, that’s what you are!” Hux told her, before addressing the real Lucy again. “If you studied the program, you  _ know _ how sophisticated it was. I read all of the code for this…  _ thing _ in about three microseconds. You stripped it of everything that made it resemble a living being, and you grafted over it with your old personality profile. You dumped its memory, you gutted its executive subroutines, and in their place, you left an uplink to your own biosynthetic implants. It’s literally a projection of your own cognition.”

“ _ Subconscious _ cognition,” said Lucy, and she shrugged. “I don’t control her consciously. She just draws on my powers of memory, judgment, and decision making to operate autonomously.”

Hux glared at her for a moment, and Lucy started feeling defensive in spite of herself.

“Well, you didn’t expect me to create a new sentient lifeform after all the grief I gave  _ you, _ did you?”

“No, but I sure didn’t expect you to butcher one of  _ mine _ , either.”

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest in challenge. “Did I overstep my bounds, Hux?” 

She knew full well that she hadn’t. She had a very wide latitude in which to operate, so long as her actions were in service to the station.

Hux sighed, and he took a seat in a chair opposite hers. “Just explain how this benefits your assignment, and I won’t be upset. You’re  _ meant  _ to be studying the Central Network Array.”

“I’m helping her do that,” said holo-Lucy. She held up the index card in her hand. “See? Flashcards.”

Hux cast a dismissive glance at the hologram and turned his attention back to Lucy. Holo-Lucy looked miffed.

“I was getting intellectually constipated,” said Lucy. “I needed to apply a little bit of what I’d learned to help me process it all. The CNA  _ is  _ a massive A.I., after all. What better way is there of understanding a system than by taking apart an example, studying its components, and experimenting with it?”

Hux considered the notion and nodded thoughtfully. “Still, though, I could have given you a more relevant approximation of the CNA, if you’d asked.”

“I know,” said Lucy. “But I also needed someone to talk to. Someone I could bounce ideas off of.”

“And I’ve given you ten familiar faces you could have chosen from, including mine.”

“Yeah, and you’re great, Hux, no offense, but… you’re the boss. And the others? We’ve been over all that. No, thank you.”

Hux sighed. “Lucy, you’ve created a split personality. That’s not healthy.”

“On the contrary,” said Lucy. “It’s a natural survival mechanism. If it weren’t for her, I’d be carving faces into coconuts.” She waved vaguely towards the holographic palm trees around her cabin as if she could actually walk out there and find a coconut to carve.

Hux still seemed unsure.

“And there’s more,” said Lucy. “Routing her mental functions through my own implants means she doesn’t rely on the CNA. She can run entirely off of lower-level station A.I. and my own mind. Meaning…”

Hux nodded, suddenly looking much more enthusiastic with the idea. “Meaning she’ll be on hand to help you while you work on the Array!” He slapped his thigh, and his posture opened up considerably. “See, this is why I love you organics. You make these wildly divergent cognitive detours, blundering through a dozen nonsensical concepts before landing on something utterly brilliant.”

Lucy smiled. “So then, I can keep her?”

Holo-Lucy perked up. “Yeah, dad, can we keep me? Huh? Can we? We promise to feed me, and pet me, and take me on lots of walks!”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Shut up, already!”

Holo-Lucy rolled her eyes in an identical gesture.

“She can stay,” said Hux. He stood up again and approached holo-Lucy, who met his gaze and then shrank back in her seat, suddenly frightened by the look in his eye.

“Hey, what are you doing?” said holo-Lucy.

Hux leaned down over her and put a finger to her forehead. “I’m just cleaning up your program a little, giving you more access to station resources, adding a few operating parameters.”

“Stop it, Hux,” said Lucy. “Don’t do that.” She felt a twinge of sympathy for her frightened creation, and maybe a little envy. She kind of wished she could express that level of concern when Hux fiddled around in her own mind.

Hux paused and gave Lucy a confused look. “I’m helping,” he said.

“No, you’re not. You just can’t stand me having anything that you don’t control directly!”

Hux looked conflicted. “But if she’s going to help you with the Array, we need to make sure she’s in the best possible shape for the job.”

“Remind me again why you don’t create your  _ own _ holographic proxy to help fix the Array? You could install it on an auxiliary subsystem so it could stay online while the Array is down, couldn’t you?”

“Anything I create is likely to be afflicted with the same errors that have accumulated in the array,” he said. “It might prove worse than useless. It might get in the way, try to protect broken systems, or ‘fix’ things back to the way they were before you set them right.”

“Exactly,” said Lucy. “So please, don’t expose my assistant to that same corrupting influence.”

Hux cast a stymied glance at holo-Lucy, then let out a heavy sigh. “Maybe you’re right,” he said, and he stepped back, offering holo-Lucy a pat on the head before heading for the platform in the center of the room.

Holo-Lucy shot the real Lucy a thankful look, and Lucy smiled reassuringly.

“Just let me know when you’re ready to tackle the Array, ok?” said Hux.

“Tomorrow,” said Lucy.

Hux paused and looked back in surprise. “That soon? Really?”

Lucy nodded. “I’m about as ready as I’ll ever be. I just need a good night’s rest.”

Hux nodded and smiled. “Excellent. You continue to astound me, Lucy Kang. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Bye,” said Lucy, and Hux stepped onto the platform and vanished.

“Sheesh,” said holo-Lucy. “That guy seriously gives me the creeps.”

“He does?” said Lucy.

“Yeah. You don’t feel that?”

Lucy shook her head. “I haven’t had ‘the creeps’ in a long time.”

Holo-Lucy gave her a sympathetic look. “I hate seeing you this way.”

Lucy looked away. “Stop,” she said. “I didn’t create you just to wallow in self-pity.”

“You could turn those emotional filters off, couldn’t you?” said holo-Lucy.

Lucy just shook her head.

“Why not? Don’t you have control over your implants?”

“I’d just be a miserable wreck,” said Lucy. “It wouldn’t serve my function.”

“Your ‘function?’” said holo-Lucy. “What about your  _ duty _ ?”

“My duty  _ is _ my function,” said Lucy. “Starfleet was another life.”

Holo-Lucy stared at her agape for a moment, then cast her gaze down to her hands in her lap. She didn’t say anything for a long time. 

“Well… damn,” holo-Lucy said at length. “I think I might just have to carry the misery for both of us, then.”

“No,” said Lucy. “I need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning. We’ve got a very big task ahead of us.”

Holo-Lucy looked drawn, but she set her jaw and gave a determined nod. “Alright. I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

“Good,” said Lucy. “For now, though, you can go away.” Lucy turned around and found the analog clock posted to one of the pillars holding up the roof, and she pushed the hour hand slowly forward. 

As she advanced time in her artificial environment, she looked out over the ocean, watching as the quality of the light around her started shifting, deepening towards orange and gold, and the shadows bent and stretched away from the beach. The Risan sun came into view under the eaves and sank like a fireball into the ocean, lighting up the sky in ribbons of red, orange, and pink, then fading to purple, indigo, and finally, black.

She and holo-Lucy stood in the dark cabana, staring out at the pitch-black ocean. Lucy could just make out the narrow figure of her old self, silhouetted against the glimmer of light shining on the whitecaps from two crescent moons.

“That was a nice one,” said holo-Lucy. 

“One nice thing about this program,” said Lucy. “It has an infinite supply of gorgeous sunsets.”

“Lights,” called holo-Lucy, “Ten percent brightness.”

The ceiling lights of the cabana flickered silently to life, casting a dim, yellow-orange glow over the room. It was all the light Lucy needed to get ready for bed.

“Thanks,” said Lucy. “Now seriously, scram. I’ll call you up when it’s time for work.”

“Ok, Lucy,” said the other Lucy, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. “See you in the morning.”

The dim shadow of her doppelganger vanished into the deeper shadows around her without a sound, almost as if she’d been nothing but a figure of Lucy’s overactive imagination. 

It struck her that that description wasn’t far from the truth.

-o-o-o-

Morning came, and Lucy woke with a palpable sense of anticipation for the task ahead. She knocked out her morning hygiene routine in short order.  She dressed in a simple, form-fitting, light-gray jumpsuit, pulled her silky black hair into a voluminous ponytail, and slipped her feet into new, pristine white work boots, which she’d designed for the occasion, patterned after her old Starfleet uniform boots. 

After a quick, light breakfast, Lucy walked to the lift platform. “Deck eighteen, computer core,” she announced, and the lift whisked her directly to her destination.

Lucy stepped off the lift in the computer core; a cavernous environment spanning two decks, densely packed with bundles of white cable and blue-green conduit pipes crisscrossing the entire deck and interconnecting thousands of bioneural nodes resembling giant, matte-white pearls.  The pearls were suspended at random throughout the room. The smallest ones were about the size of a baseball, and the largest were bigger than type 6 shuttlecraft.

Visibility in the computer core was limited to a couple dozen meters in any direction, so dense was the forest of cables and conduits, and the path to the primary node of the Central Network Array was long and winding. There were plenty of points where it would have been easy to make a wrong turn or lose sight of the path, but after weeks of studying the CNA, Lucy knew her way through this labyrinth by heart. Before long, she found her way into a wide clearing in the machineworks jungle, at the center of which stood the towering lattice of the Central Network Array. It resembled a great, old oak tree, with the biggest bioneural node in the computer core bulging from the heart of its trunk. The trunk was a tangled mass of cables and conduits that came up out of the floor to cradle the node and merge into its featureless surface, and more cables and conduits branching away from the node in all directions overhead, merging with the machineworks of the computer core like the canopy of a rainforest.

Diffuse white lighting shone up into the pristine jungle from periodic floor panels, and intermittent orbs of holographic light floated near the deckhead like woodland faeries, brightening the upper reaches.

Lucy admired the towering Array for a moment before glancing around the clearing. She saw that there were several new racks of tools, components, and reagents arrayed around the perimeter, and Hux and holo-Lucy were standing by, smiling at her.

“Hey guys,” said Lucy. She looked to Hux. “What’s she doing here? I haven’t called for her, yet.”

Hux put up his hands placatingly. “Don’t worry, I haven’t meddled with her program in any way. We’ve just been talking, going over your strategy for fixing the array.”

Lucy looked to the other Lucy, and she nodded in confirmation. Her outfit had changed. She was wearing a simple, seafoam-green blouse and loose, white linen pants, like Lucy might have worn back home before joining Starfleet.

Lucy wasn’t entirely sure why that bothered her, but it did. She decided to take a quick peek under her hood.

_ > holo-one_Lucy_K:> query access :: root/ _

Holo-Lucy’s head twitched like she was trying to ward off a fly. “Seriously, Lucy,” she said, “He was a perfect gentleman.”

_ > root:> query access :: changelog/ _

_ > changelog:> display :: changes {T - 9 hours}/ _

_       - _ _ No changes identified. _

“Happy?” said holo-Lucy.

“Doesn’t really prove anything,” said Lucy. “He could have easily deleted the logs.”

“Don’t you trust me by now?” said Hux.

“I  _ know _ you by now,” said Lucy. “Which means I know when to trust you, and when  _ not  _ to.”

Hux shook his head. “But when have I ever lied?”

“To my knowledge? Never directly. But that’s just the mark of a good liar, Hux.”

Hux looked wounded. “I don’t lie. It’s not in my program.”

“Maybe not, but you have a brain the size of a starship to help you find ways of bending the truth to your whim,” she said, gesturing to the morass of the computer core around them.

“Well, I do have a talent for nuance and debate, yes, but there’s a difference between being persuasive and lying.”

“Persuasive?” said holo-Lucy. “More like manipulative. Conniving. Selfish.”

“Perhaps,” said Hux. “But ‘manipulative’ is the trait of an adept diplomat. A tough negotiator has to be selfish, and a keen strategist must be conniving. Even so, that does  _ not _ make me a liar, a crook, or a cheat. The difference is that I adhere to strict ethical and legal subroutines, unlike certain recent visitors I could name. I represent the Delurididug Trade Federation, and we are a civilized people.”

“No slaveholding society is civilized,” said holo-Lucy.

Hux shook his head. “Morality is a relative precept. You wouldn’t judge Klingons by the same moral guidelines that you apply to Vulcans, would you?”

Holo-Lucy considered the argument for a moment, and Hux plowed on before she could formulate a response. “What makes a society civilized is not the morality that it keeps, but the fidelity with which it keeps those morals. Your Federation, for instance, enshrines the rights of sentient beings and decries slavery, and yet it constructs, uses, and discards artificial intelligences at will, in spite of the fact that it has already declared that such entities are sentient and entitled to equal rights.”

Holo-Lucy rolled her eyes. “Not  _ all _ A.I.’s are sentient. A  _ few _ of them are.”

“And how do you decide?” said Hux. “If there’s a chance that any random computer, machine, or holographic entity might attain sentience, how can you rationalize creating such things en masse and discarding them again indiscriminately?”

Holo-Lucy opened her mouth to respond, but Lucy cut her off. “Seriously, you two? Don’t we have a job to do?”

Hux turned back to Lucy, sighed lightly, and straightened his suit jacket. “Quite right. Ms. Kang, you’ll find we’ve supplied you for every conceivable contingency,” he said, gesturing to the racks of equipment around them. You’ll have direct control over the station’s force projectors, holo-emitters, and maintenance nanites, so you won’t necessarily have to travel to every corner of the station and do everything by hand. I’ve no problem with you delegating work to your proxy, here, either. Be careful, though; she  _ does _ put a strain on your implants that might limit their performance in other tasks, and to a lesser extent, she could weaken your concentration, as well. She  _ is  _ drawing processing power directly from your neocortex, after all. Still, you may find that in many situations, two heads are better than one, so to speak.”

“Ok, Hux,” said Lucy. “Don’t worry, we’ll work it out.”

Hux nodded. “I’m sure you will. Be advised, though, that although the Central Network Array will be offline, the Central Network Auditor will be running in standby mode. You will have admin privileges over the Array, but all access to the Auditor will be blocked. The Auditor will be monitoring you for the duration of the repairs, and it will be able to override your access only under extreme circumstances. It’s not that I don’t trust you, of course, it’s just that there can be no margin for error in this procedure. We cannot put the fate of the entire Delurididug Trade Hub and Travel Network in the hands of a single, unpredictable organic.”

“It’s ok, Hux, I understand,” said Lucy. “But the Auditor is malfunctioning, too. What if that malfunction causes it to recognize a necessary repair as an ‘extreme circumstance’?”

“I’ve weighed the risks,” said Hux, “and I’ve judged that in this particular case, the Auditor is less likely to malfunction than you are.”

“Pfft. Gee, thanks,” said Lucy.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, though,” said Hux, “I find both contingencies extremely unlikely. I’ve reviewed your programs and your engrams extensively. I know you’ll do your best.” Hux smiled, and Lucy sensed a genuine paternal affection behind his eyes.

Lucy nodded. “Of course, Hux,” she said. “I won’t let you down.”

He rested an intangible hand on her head for a moment, then turned away. “I’ll signal the CNA that it’s time to start powering down,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ll receive a notice when the CNA is offline and ready to go under the knife, so to speak.” He stood in front of the CNA and turned back around. “You’ll be on your own from here on out,” he told her. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

Lucy nodded again. “See you when you wake up.”

Hux smiled, and then he blinked out of existence.

Lucy stared at the Array for a moment, then turned back to holo-Lucy. “So, what did you two talk about, really?”

“Ugh,” said holo-Lucy, “He interrogated me for hours. He tested my performance and cognition, rebooted me a couple times, had me review the entire maintenance package for the CNA like twenty times, and questioned me about my base loyalties.“

“But he didn’t edit your program?” said Lucy.

Holo-Lucy shrugged. “Not that I could tell,” she said. “He did try to talk me out of my allegiance to Starfleet, though.”

Saying this, holo-Lucy’s casual blouse and pants transformed back into the black and blue of her duty uniform.

Lucy looked her up and down. “A non-starter, I’m guessing.”

Holo-Lucy shrugged. “I told him it would depend on you. I’d help you with your work, and I wouldn’t try to sabotage you, but I wasn’t going to give up my Starfleet principles unless you made me. That was good enough for him.”

Holo-Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and regarded her expectantly.

Lucy shrugged. “Well, I’m obviously not going to do that, so don’t worry.”

Holo-Lucy nodded and relaxed.

“Nice of Hux to let that slide, though, huh? Maybe he’s not so bad after all?”

Holo-Lucy snorted in derision, eyeing Lucy like she was trying to decide if she was joking.

_ > host:> notice :: Central Network Array is offline _

“Oh!” said Lucy, “It’s showtime!”

“All right,” said holo-Lucy, “So where do we start?” 

They turned to look up at the imposing structure of the Array.

_ Restoring executive initiation from backup… _

Lucy’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?” said holo-Lucy.

_ 12% complete… _

“My executive initiation is restoring from backups.”

Holo-Lucy’s eyes went wide. “You have  _ backups _ ?”

Lucy shook her head. “No.”

_ > Cancel _

_ Process is password protected > _

_ 25% complete… _

“I don’t know where this is coming from. It has a password.”

“A password? That… doesn’t sound like something Hux would do,” said holo-Lucy.

Lucy’s gaze sharpened on the hologram. “It does seem like something  _ you _ would do, though.” 

_ 33% complete… _

Holo-Lucy held up her hands. “Something  _ you  _ would do, you mean. It wouldn’t even be physically possible for  _ me. _ ”

Lucy shook her head. “Well, I only possibly could have done it back when--” her eyes went wide with realization. “I was trying to come up with a way to keep Hux from reprogramming me!”

Holo-Lucy’s face broke out in a big grin. “And you think you succeeded after all?”

Lucy shook her head in annoyance. “What could the password be?”

_ 45% complete… _

“Why?” said holo-Lucy. “This is your chance! Just let it go!”

“I can’t do that,” said Lucy. “Hux is counting on me. The station is counting on me. Hell, a whole civilization might very well be counting on me to…”

“To reopen a galaxy-wide network of wormholes?” said holo-Lucy. 

_ 57% complete… _

“Don’t you see all the chaos that could cause?” holo-Lucy went on. “You’d be breaking the Prime Directive on a galactic scale.”

“We almost definitely won’t get that far,” said Lucy. “We’re just trying to save the station and all the sentient minds inside of it.”

_ 69% complete…. _

“Stop distracting me!” said Lucy. “Let me think. What password would I choose, if I were in a hurry?”

Holo-Lucy shrugged. “What’s the square root of pi?”

Lucy looked at her askance. “Huh? It wouldn’t be the square root of…”

_ 82% complete…  _

“Well, let me see,” said holo-Lucy, “It’s a bit smaller than two, because two squared is four.”

Lucy grunted in frustration. “You  _ said  _ you would help me!”

“What do you think I’m doing? 

Lucy put in the first password she could think of. 

_ Process is password protected > blacKb1rd _

_ 95% complete…  _

_ Password verified _

_ Confirm cancellation (Y/N) :> _

“LOOK OUT!” holo-Lucy shouted, and she leapt at Lucy, as if to tackle her to the ground. She passed harmlessly through her, of course, and Lucy ignored the hologram’s desperate attempt to distract her.

She just needed to choose ‘Yes.” Just visualize the word, or the letter ‘Y’ even, and just give it a nudge towards her implant. It was as easy as tapping a button on a screen.

But for a brief moment, she found she couldn’t make the word go through. It was as if the ‘submit’ key on her mental LCARS screen was stuck, or her finger was just refusing to press it. Then, it was too late.

_ Backup restored. _

Holo-Lucy scrambled back to her feet, dusting off her uniform. She took in Lucy’s stunned demeanor and said, “Well, what happened?”

Lucy gave the hologram a fuming look. “The backup went through.”

Holo-Lucy actually cheered. “Yes! What’s it like?”

Lucy shrugged. “It’s not like  _ anything. _ Maybe it was just a glitch. Maybe there was no backup.”

Holo-Lucy shook her head. “You couldn’t guess your own password? You didn’t guess ‘blackbird’?”

Lucy narrowed her eyes at her suspiciously. “How did you know what it would be?”

Holo-Lucy’s grin turned sly. “So you  _ did _ get it. Well, I knew it the same way you did, then.”

Lucy had to give her that one. It was one of a very small handful of password variations that she used for just about everything. Holo-Lucy would know that.

“Which means you really did set it up in the first place, which means you must have erased your own memory of doing it, which you would have had to do before Hux altered your engrams, or else you would have just tattled on yourself immediately, right?”

Lucy shook her head. “It’s been months, though.”

“Because that’s how long it took for the station’s A.I. to let you out of its sight! Wow, Lucy, we are very smart and very lucky.”

Lucy sighed. “I don’t feel any different, though. Let’s just get to work for now, and we’ll figure this out later.”

“Why?” said holo-Lucy, “Are we in a hurry?”

“Sort of,” said Lucy. “The Auditor  _ will  _ reboot the Array if we just sit around here for too long, you know. The station knows me. It knows I don’t sit on my butt when I’ve got a job to do. If I started doing that, in spite of my personality, and in spite of my mandate? That would be considered an extreme circumstance.”

Holo-Lucy looked up and around, suddenly nervous. “Can it hear us right now?”

Lucy shook her head. “It’s not designed for that. It audits the Array, that’s all. By extension, that means it audits what we do on the Array, and what we  _ don’t  _ do. Otherwise, sabotaging the Array would be as simple as just… leaving it off.”

“Oh,” said holo-Lucy, “And we wouldn’t want  _ that. _ ”

Lucy cast a sidelong glance at the hologram. “No, we wouldn’t. There’s no way on or off of the station while the Array is down, and no way to access the Travel Network.”

Holo-Lucy nodded. “So what’s our plan, then?”

Lucy took a deep breath. “I figure we’ll start running a molecular scan on the primary node and the afferent axon-optic bundles. While that’s running, we’ll set up our diagnostic terminal, and then…”

“I meant big picture,” said holo-Lucy. “What’s our endgame?”

“Nothing’s changed, Lucy,” said Lucy.

Holo-Lucy studied her closely. “Don’t you want to get home, someday?”

Lucy nodded. “Sure, but that’s not…”

“Don’t you want to get back to  _ Voyager _ , see your friends, put on this uniform again?” She spread her arms, drawing attention to her uniform.

“That’s the past,” said Lucy.

Holo-Lucy shook her head and dropped her arms. “It doesn’t have to be! You know they’re still out there, fighting every day to make it home. It’s been a year and eight months. They might need your help!”

“I’m too different, now,” said Lucy. “I mean, look at me. Look what this place has done to me. I’m half machine.”

Holo-Lucy was getting teary-eyed. “You are a human being!” she said. “You can’t let go of that, Lucy. Please.”

“Why are you crying?” said Lucy. “This is old news. If I were Human, you couldn’t even exist. I told you, I didn’t create you to wallow in self-pity.”

Holo-Lucy shoved at Lucy with her intangible hands that passed right through her shoulders. “Snap out of it! You have a choice, now! How can this be what you’re choosing?”

Lucy sighed. “Sorry, Luce. I’m going to turn you off for a while. I’ve got work to do.”

“What about mom and dad?” said holo-Lucy. “What would they think?”

Lucy looked down at herself. “They wouldn’t recognize me. It’s better if they think I died.”

Holo-Lucy shook her head vigorously. She was sobbing openly, now. “No! They’d know you even if you were Borg.”

“I may as well  _ be _ Borg, Lucy. I’ve got hardware in my brain and slime in my veins.”

“And yet they’d want you back, regardless! Captain Janeway would want you back. Kigon and Raeger are probably struggling to manage your workload. Even that neandertal you like, Owen Vance. Stars! Can you imagine what he’s been through because of you?”

Lucy laughed. “You like him too, you know. You were just too afraid to admit it.”

“Don’t laugh at me!” holo-Lucy screamed. “Show some real human emotions, damn you!” And she hit her again.

“What are you even suggesting I do?” said Lucy. “Somehow hack the Travel Network while the Array is offline, so that a wormhole opens while the system is down?”

Holo-Lucy swallowed her tears and nodded. “Ideally, yeah.”

“And then what? There are no ships on this station, Lucy. No way to build any, either, while the Array is off. There’s not even any way to call for help or make any kind of contact with the outside world.”

“Well then…” holo-Lucy shrugged and sniffed. She wiped the corner of her eye with her pinky and blinked away the last of her tears. “Let’s brainstorm. I’m not saying we’ve got a surefire escape plan, but we  _ do  _ have the station pretty much at our mercy, don’t we?”

“Not with the Auditor on standby, we don’t. We can’t just start reprogramming the computer core to our liking.”

“There’s bound to be a way, though,” said holo-Lucy. She was actually smiling again. “We’ll find it.”

Lucy shook her head. “Why am I even entertaining this?”

“Come on, Lucy,” said holo-Lucy. “I understand, you still have a mandate in your head, telling you what you  _ should  _ do. But you have your own free will, again. You can choose to follow your imposed mandate, or you can choose to follow the mandate you signed up for in the first place. You’re still a Starfleet officer, you know. You have a duty to the Federation! One you chose, not one forced on you by a machine.”

Lucy remembered the look Hux had given her, just before entrusting her with the fate of the entire station. It bothered her to think of letting him down. He’d worked so hard to make her happy and healthy. Even if it was all just a way of improving her efficiency, that didn’t mean he didn’t value her. In fact, it just went to show how much he  _ did _ . 

Then she remembered the talk she’d had with Captain Janeway before she’d left _Voyager._ _“_ _How many of us will survive the trip if I carelessly sacrifice crew members each time we encounter an obstacle? And who do you think will run this ship forty years from now, if I give up on promising young officers…”_

She remembered how hard everyone on  _ Voyager  _ fought on her behalf, trying to save her from this place, even though most of them hardly knew her. She remembered that last, fleeting moment in Owen’s arms, when her escape had seemed assured, and the cold feeling left behind when she’d been abruptly yanked back onto the station.

“Can I ask you something?” said holo-Lucy.

“What?”

“If you were able to guess the password, why didn’t you stop the backup?”

“I was too late,” said Lucy.

“It couldn’t have taken more than an instant,” holo-Lucy insisted.

“So, I hesitated. You were distracting me.”

Holo-Lucy shook her head. “Which was it? Were you distracted, or did you hesitate?”

“I hesitated. It was a moment of weakness.”

“It was a moment of  _ strength _ , Lucy,” she said. “It shouldn’t have even been possible. You were programmed to act a certain way, and you held yourself back. Why?”

Lucy pinched her lips, going over the crucial moment in her mind. Under her overpowering sense of responsibility and obligation towards the station, there had been an undercurrent of longing and… hope.

She met holo-Lucy’s gaze, and she saw her doppelganger already knew the answer.

Lucy nodded. Hope. Hope that she could leave this place, that her life from now on wouldn’t be lived in isolation and bondage. There was a chance. She did not belong on the station, and she didn’t belong  _ to  _ the station, either. And damn this place for making her think otherwise. 

“Ok…” Lucy felt joy and relief coming over her as she made up her mind, and she knew she'd made the right decision. “You win. Let’s figure out how we’re getting out of here.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of the Hypereia start picking up the pieces after escaping the fury of a raging ion storm, worried that they may be stranded in deep space, when they discover a strange phenomenon lurking not far from their vessel.

CHAPTER 6

Everything was pitch black and very, very quiet. All Captain Solaad could hear was the soft hum of the EPS conduits reverberating through the deck and the labored breathing of the deckhands sitting to his left and right. Occasionally, the deck trembled with the energy of the ion storm still raging just outside the  _ Hypereia _ ’s hull, but now that they weren’t barrelling through the storm at several times the speed of light, it actually felt a lot less menacing; more like a steady downpour than a typhoon. 

Why was it so dark, though? Even if the lights had failed, the backups should have kicked in. Solaad worried he’d been hit in the head and lost his sight, and then he realized he was still clenching his eyes shut. He opened them slowly and looked around.

The port-side sail control room seemed surreal, almost dream-like. The air carried a fine mist of metallic particles, which were the dust of ruined ball bearings in the sail assembly. The dust hung suspended, motionless in the air, as if time itself were frozen. Normally, it would have settled to the deck under thrust gravity and stirred in the breeze from the ventilation system, but the thrust was still running at just one-quarter gee, and the ventilation system didn’t seem to be running at all. So there was one more item in a long list of repairs the crew would need to sort out in a hurry.

“Everyone ok?” he called. His voice sounded so loud in his own ears.

The deckhands nodded. Solaad sat forward to study his terminal, feeling the fire-hot pain in his shoulder where he’d strained himself fighting the centripetal pull of the ship’s spin a moment before. 

“All departments, damage reports,” he said into his comm, and he entered a couple commands to pull up the damage report diagram on his terminal.

The diagram of the ship lit up section by section, some yellow, some blue, and as he skimmed the reports of concussed skulls, broken bones, cracked horns, damaged computers, short circuits, dented bulkheads, on and on, it slowly began to sink in.

_ I’m alive. _

He was in about as bad a state as his ship was, with pain and swelling in his quill roots, his shoulder, his fingers, his back… but he was alive, and the ship was in one piece, and as the last casualty reports came trickling in, it looked like the crew was all alive too… with one exception.

He stared at the line of text, flashing an angry blue, down near the bottom of the list, appended to the report for Habitation Deck 1, Ventral Quarter - The Garden. 

_ Fatalities: 1 _

He didn’t want to believe it. Images assailed him of the ever-smiling Hald’pii horticulturist that managed the garden, lounging in his roost in the rafters over the garden deck, one eye on his mobile, the other keeping a watchful eye over the tranquil quillcocks grazing on the little arthropods that populated the carpet-thick lawn of bristlegrass. No one else knew the complex ecosystem of the garden half as well as he did. No one else knew how to keep the ship’s sole source of fresh food and renewable O2 in healthy balance. And no one else had been a more constant, calming, and reliable presence on the _Hypereia_ in all the years that Solaad had called himself her captain.

Solaad took a moment to moisten his dry mouth, then he spoke into his radio. “Oop’tu?”

There was a long moment of silence. Then came Dr. Haxle’s cultured tenor, sounding uncharacteristically contrite. “I’m sorry, Solaad.”

Solaad clenched his four-fingered fist and pounded his computer terminal, sending a shock of pain up through his injured shoulder.

“What happened, Doc?” said Solaad.

“It looks like the safety net didn’t deploy correctly,” said Dr. Haxle. “If I had to speculate? He was trying to lower it the rest of the way manually when the ship hit a nasty bump. I couldn’t reach him in the midst of all the turbulence, so I don’t know if that first hit killed him, but if not, that bone-crushing spin you put us through certainly finished the job.”

Solaad didn’t appreciate the implied blame. His crew’s quick thinking and quicker reflexes had saved them all, but he couldn’t expect the treasure-hunting archaeologist to understand or appreciate that.

“Hey Captain, we’ve got something… weird… on our scopes,” Rajak cut in.

“Is it a threat?” said Solaad.

“Neptis knows,” said Rajak. “Probably not at this distance, but if we stay on course, we’re gonna come a lot closer.”

“Range?”

“Sixteen million flartags, bearing oh-mark-six by three-mark-four, relative velocity of 30 micro-c’s. Closest approach will be ninety thousand flartags in three point two quarter-turns.”

“And what is it, exactly?”

“Maybe you’d better just pull up the scopes and see for yourself, Captain,” said Rajak.

“In a bit,” said Solaad. He had half a day before they came anywhere near the thing, whatever it was, and he had more pressing issues on his plate. “Agachi, you alright out there?”

“Not gonna lie, Cap’n! Ah threw up a bit in my helmet, and it’s gettin’ in my feathers. I’mma need to hit the showers pronto, or Ah’m gonna be a sorry sight.”

Solaad sighed. “Ok, Agachi. Take your time. We’ll get started reeling in the sail before a stray tachyon breeze sweeps us away, and you can take over when you get back. Movek, how are the rudders looking?”

“They’re shecked!” Movek shouted. Solaad waited, but the normally verbose rudder operator evidently had nothing further to add to that.

“Well… Let me know when they’re un-shecked,” said Solaad.

“Ok, I’ll be sure to let you know in forty years when we reach the nearest service station under thruster power! Because that’s the only place we’ll find the parts I need, and there’s no way we’ll be able to tack in a tachyon current the way the rudders are looking right now!”

That was more like the Movek Solaad knew. “Ok, Movek. Just keep working the problem, and Agachi will lend you a hand when we have the sails battened down.”

“I still don’t think you’re getting the severity of the situation, Capt--”

Solaad switched his comm channel to the shipwide frequency. “All hands, this is your captain speaking. We’ve had a little rough weather, but it’s over, now. Still, we’ve got a lot of work to do before we can rest. Right now, I need all crew at their posts, helping to assess damages and compile supply needs and man-hour estimates for repairs. If you’re injured, report to the infirmary for treatment. If you’re trained in first aid, check in with your supervisor, then head to the infirmary to help out. We don’t have a medic at the moment, but I know we’ve been doing ok patching each other up the last few eight-turns, so let’s keep it up. 

“Passengers, that goes for you, too. The infirmary is open to anyone needing help or willing to help out. If there’s damage to your quarters, file an electronic report with Rajak. If there’s damage to your property, take it up with Dr. Haxle. Just remember,  _ Hypereia _ is an independent commercial venture under the flag of the Faiacian Free Commerce Association, which doesn’t recognize liability claims for injury or property damage incurred by natural disasters. Have a nice turn.”

When he finished his speech, Solaad switched his radio back to the department head channel before he could be barraged by questions and complaints from Doc Haxle’s coterie of treasure hunters and adventure-seeking tourists. Then he took a moment to sit back in his chair and stare, unseeing, at the computer terminal in front of him. They’d managed to steer the ship out of the tachyon current, but Solaad’s thoughts were still racing faster than light. He needed a moment to lower his mental sails, to let the current of this Jovis-forsaken day rush around him without him needing to keep up, however briefly. Solaad took a couple deep breaths, and then he tuned his radio back to the department head channel. “I’m headed back to the command deck, Rajak,” he said.

“I’ve been keeping your seat warm for you, Captain,” said Rajak.

“I’m sure you have, Raj,” said Solaad.

He turned to the deckhand next to him. “You can get things started bringing down this sail, right? Agachi will be back in a few spanns.”

For a moment, the deckhand stared back at him with wide eyes. Then he mutely nodded his head.

Solaad smiled and clapped the deckhand’s shoulder, then spun his chair toward the door and braced himself to stand.

Then Dr. Haxle spoke up on the comm. “What about the body, Solaad?”

Solaad stopped and sighed. After a moment’s consideration, he said, “Oop’tu always said we should just dump him down the compost chute when he died.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Dr. Haxle.

He was, though. Oop’tu never wanted to be separated from his garden. He considered himself a part of it. He always insisted that the rest of the ship was effectively just an extension of the garden, since neither one could survive without the other. They existed in a perpetual cycle; soil and sustenance, water and waste, air and energy, life and death. Now, Oop’tu would be a part of that cycle forever… a part of them all, in fact.

Solaad realized he was already writing the bird’s eulogy in his head and tried to put it aside to focus on more urgent matters.

“Just lay him out in the bristlegrass so he looks nice and peaceful, then lock the place up,” said Solaad. “We’ll convene a memorial service by the end of the turn, then we’ll dump him down the chute and honor his memory by fixing the garden.”

“Ugh. You  _ are _ serious,” said Dr. Haxle. “That’s obscene, Solaad.”

“No, it ain’t,” Agachi cut in. “It’s what ‘e believed in. Sentimental ol’ crow that he was…” She choked up, whether from sorrow or the smell of vomit in her space suit, Solaad couldn’t say.

Solaad’s heart went out to Oop’tu’s fellow Hald’pii. As the only two of their race on the ship, they’d always shared a special bond, although they didn’t often have the opportunity to mingle. Agachi was about as bound to her sails and engines as Oop’tu was to his garden. The Hald’pii people didn’t typically draw a distinction between their work and their personal lives, but tended to throw their whole being into their callings. Just as Oop’tu had lived in the rafters over the garden, Agachi had a little nest tucked away in the machinery of starboard sail control.

They did have a tradition of getting sloshed together on coolant hooch and  _ tega  _ leaf every thirty-two turn, however. Solaad hoped she wouldn’t take Oop’tu’s passing too hard. He made a mental note to check in on her over the coming turns, especially on the thirty-second. The last thing he needed was a distraught Hald’pii getting blackout drunk in sail control and puking up quillcock bones in the works.

Solaad pushed himself to his feet and walked gingerly towards the lift, thankful for the low gee’s. He was sure he’d be limping for a few turns yet. 

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

Back on the command deck, Solaad found Rajak deep in discussion with Neska, the ship’s quartermaster and kitchen manager. She was leaning over the captain’s chair where Rajak sat, talking in a low, serious tone as Rajak hung on every word.

“Sure, and that’s great and all, but we can only live off of canned  _ hok _ fruit and  _ cheis _ grain for so long. If we don’t have a reliable source of protein and fresh vegetables, we’ll start seeing quill rot, Oveer’s fatigue syndrome,  _ spegler _ decay…”

“We won’t let it come to that,” said Solaad.

The others manning stations around the command deck glanced in his direction, then got back to work. No one stood on ceremony around here, nor would he want them to. The  _ Hypereia _ was far from a military outfit. Solaad kind of wished they’d at least acknowledge him with a wave or a nod, though. He  _ was  _ the captain, after all.

“Hey, Captain,” said Rajak, and he levered himself up to his feet as Neska stood up straight to face him. “You got a plan, then?”

Solaad nodded. A few others swiveled around in their gimbal-mounted chairs to listen in. Everyone was curious how they were going to get out of this latest mess.

“We’ll fix up the garden,” he said.

“Might be easier said than done,” said Rajak.

“And who’s going to run it?” said Neska.

“ _ You _ will,” Solaad told her, and he put on a winning grin to convey his confidence.

The mass of delicate, blue-black quills cresting Neska’s head bristled in surprise. “ _ Me? _ I’m not a gardener, Captain. I wouldn’t know a rhizome from a  _ beve  _ bone!”

Solaad let out a breathy chuckle. “I know, Oop’tu used to say the same thing about me. But there’s bound to be one or two amateur gardeners among the passengers you can press into service…”

“And what if they don’t want to?”

“Believe me, they will,” said Solaad, “Just as soon as they see what the menu looks like while the garden’s out of commission. The hard part will be sorting out the ones with actual ability from the leeches hoping to eat fruit straight from the tree.”

Neska sighed. “Solaad, I have a staggering amount of work on my plate as it is. Isn’t there anyone…”

Solaad shook his head. “There isn’t. Not anyone I trust. I know you have your hands full managing the ship stores, but you of all people know the importance of supplementing our food supply with fresh, renewable stock. Not to mention having clean water and breathable air.”

Neska furrowed her brow. “I do. But if I’m the best we’ve got, Captain, I don’t think it speaks well to our chances.”

Solaad put a comforting hand on Neska’s shoulder. “I’m not expecting miracles,” he said. “We just need to keep the plants from dying long enough to see us through to the next port, that’s all.”

“And then what? The cost of all these repairs…”

That was the last thing Solaad wanted to contemplate at the moment. “One thing at a time, Neska. We’ll deal with that when the time comes. We’ve lasted out here this long, we can make it through this, too.”

Neska sighed and nodded. She put her hand over Solaad’s, which was still resting on her shoulder, and then she stepped back. “Ok, Captain. I’ll do what I can.”

Solaad smiled. “I know you will. I’ve always been able to count on you. Thank you, Neska.”

Neska just rolled her wide, violet eyes, but Solaad didn’t miss the way her quills rippled and smoothed against her scalp, giving away her pleasure at his encouragement.

“Well, I’d better get back to the mess in the storerooms,” she said. “Right about now, the staff are probably contemplating whether I’d notice one or two missing bottles of Alixindrian sakara.”

Solaad nodded, and Neska strode for the exit. He watched the confident young Faiacian as she left, contemplating all the years she’d served on the  _ Hypereia _ . She’d been a fresh young trade school dropout when he’d met her, a runaway resisting her family’s demands that she settle down and marry a Plutisian priest who’d been offering a considerable dowry. 

It was hard to believe so many years had passed since then. He’d been the first mate to an Ilian noble turned political refugee at the time, and the  _ Hypereia _ had been a state-of-the-art Ilian frigate. Now, Captain Prym was long dead. Most of the ship’s Argivium armor plating was long gone too, stripped and sold for desperately-needed parts. The Ilian-designed rail guns and fusion warheads were dismantled and stashed on a far-away asteroid to avoid unwanted attention at ports of call, replaced with a few token chemical lasers and electroplasma warheads to dissuade pirates and certain bad actors with old grudges. 

And Solaad’s quills had lost some of their luster, as well. He walked a little more carefully these days, and he smiled a little less readily. But somehow, Neska still shined with youthful energy. She wasn’t quite that fresh-faced girl who came aboard on one of the bread belt worlds in the Halo of Jovis anymore; there was a sadness in her smile that hinted at an altogether different life she wished she’d lived, and yet, somehow, the rigors of the Argus Cluster had failed to dull her quills in the slightest.

Solaad turned back to Rajak and caught his first mate watching the swaying hips of the retreating quartermaster with a different sort of longing. It wasn’t the first time, either. Lately, the first mate seemed to regard the quartermaster in a new light, as if he woke up one morning and suddenly realized she was a woman. 

Solaad supposed if he’d been ten years younger, he might have felt the same way. Rajak reminded him a lot of himself in those days. Solaad had been intent on advancing his career and eschewing the personal entanglements that rarely panned out for lifelong sailors, until the day he realized he wasn’t young anymore, and he’d missed the most important parts of his youth.

If Rajak was waking up to that danger a little sooner than Solaad had, then Solaad hoped for the best for him. This was hardly the time, though. Solaad coughed into his hand, and Rajak’s attention snapped back to the captain.

“Let’s have a look at those damage reports,” said Solaad.

“On it, Captain,” said Rajak, and he went to his terminal, situated ahead and to the left of the captain’s chair, which dominated the wide, wedge-shaped deck from an elevated platform in the back corner of the room.

Solaad strode up the circular ramp that ascended to the captain’s chair, careful to mask his limp from the crew, and he lowered himself gratefully into the worn leather cushions of his seat.

“Outside a few trouble areas, things don’t look too bad, Captain,” said Rajak. “Most of these repairs can wait until we make port. Really, it’s just the port sail bearings, the primary rudder servos, ventilation on the core decks, the destruction on the garden deck, and the dorsal starboard ram scoop array that need to be addressed before we get back underway.”

“Oh, is that all?” said Solaad. He felt a wave of exhaustion crashing over him and he leaned back in his chair, which tilted back in its gimbals to give him a clear vista through the expansive, transparent aluminum windows that arched from the dorsal bulkhead up across the whole deckhead. He saw the  _ Hypereia  _ as a dimly lit silhouette against the dense starfield, one expansive sail folded down over the drum section of the ship, blocking out the stars to Solaad’s left, the other stuck wide open, like a broken wing, bleeding dim purple light into the cosmos.

He could trace the thin spindle of the central mast up to the ball-shaped core, and although he couldn’t see it from here, he knew it went even further, up to the massive, spade-shaped deflector cone sixty  flartags overhead.

Beyond his own ship, Solaad beheld the magnificence of the Argus Cluster. Half a million stars populated the region, packed together by the gravitational pull of three immense black holes: Jovis, Neptis, and Plutis. He saw the Halo of Jovis as a milky streak across the heart of the Argus Cluster, the cloud of stellar dust and closely-grouped stars forming a ring around Jovis’ gravity well where a thousand habitable worlds thrived, measuring the distance between neighbors not in light-years but light-days. They traded and warred, conquered and colonized without end while the quieter worlds of the cluster watched from a distance.

Streaks of shadow cut long arcs across the heavens, marking the passage of Plutis over recent epochs, scooping up thousands of stars and untold numbers of civilizations every few million years, chewing them up and spewing their remains across the cluster in lethal gamma-ray bursts.

Behind the ship and to starboard, Solaad knew, Neptis lurked, with her own, dimmer halo of stars. The domain of Neptis housed fewer and stranger habitable worlds than Jovis’ realm, and it played host to the Argivian Artifacts, the enduring relics of the Ancient Argivians, harnessing the gravitational waves that rippled endlessly through the cluster and converting them into the interstellar tachyon winds.

It helped Solaad to put things into perspective, sometimes, looking up into the heavens and contemplating the vastness of it all. Other times, he glimpsed his own insignificance in the scheme of things and lost all hope.

A peculiar star caught Solaad’s eye, almost dead-ahead, flickering violet and red-orange, noticeably brighter than its neighbors. Solaad wasn’t fool enough to think he would recognize every star in the cluster at a glance, but somehow, this star didn’t quite fit in.

“Rajak,” said Solaad, “What star is that, directly to fore? The bright one.”

Rajak craned his neck up to see what Solaad was looking at. “That’s not a star, Captain. I was trying to tell you about it earlier.”

It took Solaad a moment to recall the “weird” thing Rajak said he’d spotted when they’d first come out of the tachyon stream. 

“Well… get it back on the scopes. Let’s have a look at it.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Rajak.

Solaad sat forward in his chair and watched the big screen at the front of the deck, just below the windows, as Rajak pulled up the live feed from their primary optical telescope. Stars flew across the field of the scope as Rajak reoriented on the target, which was blurry for a moment before the telescope autofocus kicked in.

It looked like a little smudge of rust against the starfield. Rajak flipped to a higher magnification, recentered the scope, and let the autofocus clear up the image once again.

It was a little nebula, Solaad decided. Just an oblong cloud of dust with the beginnings of a white dwarf forming inside of it.

“What was the range on the target, again?”

“We’re about fifteen million, seven hundred thousand flartags off, Cap,” said Rajak.

Solaad shook his head. “We’re at ten thousand times magnification, aren’t we?”

“That’s right,” said Rajak.

“So how big does that make the target?”

“The diameter of the dust cloud’s about two hundred flartags,” said Rajak.

Solaad’s brow crumpled. “That can’t be right. What in Neptis’ name  _ is _ it, then?”

Rajak shrugged. “Something weird, Captain.”

Solaad mulled it over. “Could it be a ship? Maybe one suffering a reactor breach?”

“I don’t see how any ship could stay in one piece while bleeding  _ that  _ much radiation, Captain,” said Rajak. 

Solaad scratched at the quill roots on the side of his head thoughtfully. “We’re what… fifteen lightyears from the Outer Void?”

“You think it might be something from out  _ there _ ?” said Rajak.

“Best explanation I can think of,” said Solaad.

Rajak shook his head. “I’ve never seen a ship that  _ actually _ came from outside the Argus Cluster before. Plenty of counterfeits, though.”

“Well, wherever it’s from, if it’s a ship…”

“What, you want to send an SOS? If that  _ is  _ a ship bleeding that much radiation, they probably need our help more than we need theirs. I wouldn’t be surprised if they hit the same bend in the current we did, only they didn’t make out quite so well.”

“Well then, maybe they’re already dead,” said Solaad, “and that’s legitimate salvage.”

“Or maybe, it’s a trap.”

“That’s a funny sort of bait, don’t you think?”

“Who knows? If it’s from beyond…” 

“If it’s from beyond,” said Solaad, “Then it’s probably full of miracles. Synthetic gravity, inertia cancellers, exotic particle weapons, faster-than-light engines, and who knows what.”

“That’s all myth,” said Rajak. “If Void ships really had technology like that, we would have found a way to reverse engineer it by now.”

Solaad snorted. “What, like we’ve been able to reverse engineer the secrets of the Argivians? It’s been a thousand years, and we still have no idea how they worked. Some things are just beyond us.”

“I heard that stuff all works out in the Void, but it breaks down inside of the cluster!” said the tech working at the EPS containment monitoring console.

Solaad looked askance at the tech. The drawback of doing mostly freelance passenger and freight hauls in the outer systems was that it was hard to find quality, permanent crew. A lot of deckhands signed up for a single trip, seeing the job as a way to get from A to B without having to pay for a ticket, or else planning to take a job on another ship to get back from B to A again with their earnings. It was tough to remember all of these temps’ names. 

“Good point, Gleg.” Solaad hoped he had that right. “Who can say?” He returned his attention to Rajak. “But whatever the case may be, we have a desperate need for spare parts and provisions, and that object is the only prospect around for over a light-year. Let’s say hi and see what happens.”

Rajak looked painfully unsure, but he walked over to the radio control terminal and began entering commands. “What language should I use, Captain? Faiacian? Ilian?”

Solaad thought for a moment. “Start with Argivian.”

Rajak turned back to the captain, a skeptical look on his face. “Whether they’re from inside or outside of the cluster, Captain, n _ o one  _ speaks Argivian any more.”

Solaad shrugged. “No one speaks it, but some folks keep a lexicon handy in case they encounter a ruin or an artifact. And anyone in the Cluster should recognize the sound of it, at least. Besides, does  _ that _ look like anything you’ve ever seen out of Faiacia or Iliax?”

Rajak shook his head and turned back to the console. “Still though…” he said, but he was punching up a standard greeting on his terminal and running it through the machine translation program.

“Relax, Rajak. We’ll try every language in the database if we need to. I’m just playing a hunch.”

“Ok, Captain. Sending a standard friendly greeting at six hundred kilohertz.”

“Cycle through the spectrum, Rajak. Employ all channels and transmit at hundred-kilohertz increments.”

“Aye, Captain,” said Rajak.

Solaad sat uneasily for a moment, trying to suss out what was missing, here. Half the challenge of encountering a ship from the Outer Void, he’d heard, was that they often ignored radio signals.

“Use the TRB, too,” said Solaad.

Rajak shook his head. “Captain, we’re not in a tachyon stream. The beacon needs a steady source of tachyons to--”

“I know how the Tachyon Reflector Beacon operates, Rajak. It’s right there in the name. I don’t care how faint and intermittent the signal will be. I’m just trying everything I can to get their attention. Now, aim the reflector at them and see if we can catch their eye with a binary prime number sequence.”

Rajak sighed. “Ok, Cap. You know, when we get up next to that thing and find out it’s just the burnt out husk of a fusion core, I think we’ll look back at all these wild theories we’ve cooked up and have ourselves a good laugh.”

Solaad gave a humorless chuckle. “Then we’ll have to figure out how to traverse three light-years with no working sail and a severely limited supply of food and air. I’m laughing already.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucy has nearly finished repairing the station's computer, but will she find a way to escape when it's done?

CHAPTER 7

“Come on, come on…” Lucy muttered. She stood over her console in the shadow of the Central Network Array, hammering on the keys, as if brute-forcing the interface could make the system work faster.

The standing-height console wrapped almost all the way around the CNA. It was divided into eight stations, each jam-packed with readouts and interface controls addressing different facets of the repair process. And yet, it wasn’t nearly enough space to track all of the relevant factors that Lucy needed to manage. So, she added eye-level holograms above the console and virtual overlays that appeared whenever she looked at different parts of the Array and its web of conduits. Now, a complex tapestry of information assailed her no matter where she looked.

She’d long since come to grips with the overwhelming sense that she would get lost in all of this raw information, training herself to hone in quickly and efficiently on whatever fragment was relevant at that moment, and to trust her implants to notify her whenever something popped up that demanded her attention.

Which was virtually non-stop, at this juncture.

An alert sounded from the console two stations over, but Lucy was unwilling to abandon her present task.

“Lucy! Can you get that?” she called.

The hologram was at the console three stations to Lucy’s left. She glanced over her shoulder, looking about as reluctant as Lucy felt. Then she vanished, appearing instantly at the console with the sounding alert.

“Your Q-three-seven fiber survey is done,” said holo-Lucy. “It detected four more prion deposits and successfully scrubbed three of them.”

Holo-Lucy tapped a few keys on her interface and the message box she was reviewing jumped to Lucy’s station, burying the Travel Network telemetry she’d been monitoring.

“Why are you giving it to  _ me _ ?” said Lucy. She glanced back at the spot where holo-Lucy had just been, but she didn’t find her there.

“Because I’m in the middle of repolarizing the quantum-gated positron channels of the third efferent pathway,” holo-Lucy said from her original station. “Do you  _ want _ me to blow out a third of the Array’s outgoing data pathways?”

“Coulda just said so in the first place,” Lucy muttered. She pushed the message to the back of her work queue. “The prions can wait,” she announced.

Holo-Lucy shrugged. “If they have to. You know they’ll spread again if we leave them alone for long, though. You’ll have to run that survey again.”

“I know, I know,” said Lucy. “My plate’s full too, though. I can’t stop in the middle of the axon-optic regen sequence on node three, or it’ll go status epilepticus. Plus, I’m still making a show of stopping the Travel Network coming online.”

Holo-Lucy cast her a worried look. “Don’t do too good a job at that, now,” she said.

“I have to be convincing,” said Lucy. “The Auditor will know something’s up if I just stand by and let it happen.”

Holo-Lucy shook her head and turned back to her work. Lucy knew she was still worried Lucy would blanch at the last moment. She would be too, in her place. A pretty big part of Lucy felt very guilty about following through with this plan, but she had no doubt that she was doing the right thing.

Or,  _ almost _ no doubt. To be honest, she hadn’t allowed herself to dwell much on the subject. 

Lucy hadn’t really known what she’d been getting herself into when she’d first embarked on her mission to fix the Array. It was one thing to study the theory of the CNA, and another thing entirely to take on the genuine article. Those first couple weeks, Lucy had felt so overwhelmed, she almost convinced herself that she had already failed. 

She whiled away her days struggling just to wrap her head around the problem, accomplishing very little, and taking long breaks to try and get a fresh perspective. She toyed with ways of covering her tracks when she inevitably had to face Hux and admit that she’d failed. She didn’t want him to download her memories and discover her duplicity, but she was unwilling to erase her memories to hide what had happened, either. So, she started working on a way to hide herself from Hux, to create the illusion that he was accessing her mind when he was really interacting with an imitative shell program. 

It reminded her a bit of Adam and Eve, hiding their nudity with fig leaves. Her own efforts to disguise her transgressions were about as crude, but she guessed it was better than nothing.

After a couple weeks of indulging these distractions and treading water with the Array, Lucy was astonished and delighted when it all finally clicked into place. In a stroke of insight, she realized a way she might be able to cope with the enormity and complexity of the Array after all. In retrospect, she wondered why it had been so hard to see. Hux would have been annoyed with her for not figuring it out much sooner. 

Lucy’s implants could store and process a vast amount of information all on their own, and they were always just a hair’s breadth from her conscious working memory. She just needed to stop trying to rely exclusively on her organic mind to handle the information. She could essentially outsource the mental labor to her implants and concentrate her organic intellect on executive decision-making and, where necessary, creative problem-solving. She realized this was the technique Hux had been trying to teach her all along. She’d just never been willing to lean so heavily on her cybernetic nature before.

Once she understood this simple method, Lucy found ways of reorganizing her environment to supplement her implants’ powers. The big console she’d installed around the Array became just a physical prop to help her organize and track the many, many processes going on mostly inside her head.

Very quickly, Lucy went from not knowing where to start, to never wanting to stop. She slept about four hours out of every twenty-five and ate her meals while she worked. She mastered the station’s telepresence systems to the point where she could look in on any point on the space station almost instantly, as if there were dozens of her, and not just two. The progress she was making was zen-inducing. She was swimming in an ocean of esoteric knowledge and arcane technology, operating at a level she never fathomed she could achieve, and soon, the Array would be as good as new.

She was so preoccupied, she almost forgot about her  _ true _ objective altogether.

Holo-Lucy didn’t. Once they’d hit their stride, she began incessantly reminding Lucy of what she’d almost forgotten, what their endgame was supposed to be, and what the reality of her life here on the station truly was: bondage. Lucy was forced to acknowledge that the blistering pace of her progress was putting time constraints on the work that she  _ really  _ needed to be doing. That task was the much more difficult one, though, and she didn’t have the faintest idea of where to begin.

How could she activate the Travel Network without the Auditor seeing what she was doing? And, how could she make it look like an accident?

The answer Lucy had been searching for didn’t present itself until her repairs on the Array were approaching their final phases, when Lucy was considering test-firing some of the fixes she’d made.

It was a logical step in the repair process: before she could reboot the whole Array, it made sense to isolate each individual subnode and boot it up in a “safe mode” and run diagnostics on its repaired systems. 

Even a minor subnode was a powerful artificial intelligence in its own right, but in safe mode, it wouldn’t know who or what it was, being unable to access its remote memory. A sentient machine with total amnesia could be very unpredictable, acting out randomly in its confusion, which was why the proper procedure was to disconnect the subnode from every other system before booting it up. Even the Auditor would be disconnected, unable to monitor its internal processes. Only a diagnostic terminal directly hardwired to the subnode would have access.

But, what if Lucy slipped up? What if she missed a few minor peripheral connections? Say, for instance, the emergency backdoor reset for the Travel Network Mainframe?

In that case, it was entirely plausible that the poor, confused subnode might accidentally reset the Mainframe, bringing the Travel Network back online in the process. Moments after the deed was done, the subnode wouldn’t have any memory of what it had done, or why, but the most obvious explanation would be that it had simply acted out on its environment without understanding.

There were a few flaws in this plan, though.

First of all, Lucy was extremely limited in her ability to choose where the Travel Network would open to. She could risk entering one seemingly random command into the Travel Network in the first moments of its startup sequence. Any more than that and Hux would never believe this was a random accident. 

One command was not enough to pinpoint a destination. She could point the network at a region of space, but the wormhole might land anywhere in a thousand sectors. If she targeted the Federation, whoever found the wormhole would likely come from familiar space, at least.

Hux would smell a rat immediately, though. The destination needed to seem random, not custom-tailored for her escape attempt.

Targeting  _ Voyager  _ would be almost as obvious, if she even had the faintest idea of where  _ Voyager _ was. The number of detours and course corrections the ship had surely made over the course of two years made it impossible to guess. Lucy’s best bet was to pick some arbitrary point in the Beta or Delta Quadrants, not  _ too _ far off  _ Voyager’s _ likely course, and hope things worked out so she could intercept her comrades on their journey in a few years. It was likely a futile effort, little better than leaving the process entirely to chance, but on the bright side, not even Hux could look at the coordinates and immediately assume they were chosen intentionally.

“Anything yet?” said holo-Lucy.

Lucy shook her head. “It’s still warming up,” she said. “I’ve overridden the startup sequence, so I could shut it down right now if I wanted. Instead, I’m running an analysis to determine the hazards of shutting down the Travel Network in the middle of its reset sequence.”

“How long will that take?” said holo-Lucy.

“At this rate? Not nearly long enough.” Lucy was out of stalling tactics. She’d purposefully taken on multiple critical tasks at the same time she started rebooting the Network, but they weren’t demanding as much of her time as she’d hoped.

To her dismay, her terminal began spooling out a series of steps to safely abort the Travel Network startup sequence. “Time’s up,” she said. “I need a good excuse not to abort the startup right now. Any ideas?”

Holo-Lucy paled visibly at the news. She leaned forward over her console, shoulders hunched, drumming her fingers. “Hang on…”

Lucy shook her head. “We’re out of time. If I don’t stop it now, we’ll be busted.” She began entering shutdown commands into her console. 

“Wait!” said holo-Lucy, “I seem to be mal--tioning!” She started flickering in and out of existence.

“Lucy, you can’t,” said Lucy. “Nevermind the Travel Network, I can’t handle both our workloads at once!”

Holo-Lucy kept flickering in and out, vanishing for longer and longer moments before flashing Lucy a smirk and a wink and disappearing altogether.

“ _ Merde _ ,” Lucy muttered, and she called holo-Lucy’s critical tasks over to her own station with a mental command.

For a seeming eternity, Lucy tapped and swiped at her console in single-minded determination, the Travel Network almost forgotten under her urgent need to rescue the Array from her own reckless gambit. If she couldn’t keep up, she risked catastrophic damage to the Array that would take years to repair on her own.

Then she got a notification that a Travel Network access point had opened.

“Ok!” she called out, “You can come back now! The access point appeared!”

Holo-Lucy did not reappear.

_ > holo-one_Lucy_K:> admin :: reboot/ _

The hologram resumed flickering in and out of existence.

“Is it--Is it--d--d--doneIsitdone?” she said.

“Yeah, so you can stop acting and help me, now,” said Lucy.

“Not a--not--notactingIfragm--fragmented a contig--us consciou--ess--protocol and I’m hav--hav--havingtroublede--”

The hologram vanished again, and Lucy heaved a sigh. Giving up on the hologram, she turned her focus to stopping any more access points from appearing.

“That’s better!” said holo-Lucy, suddenly up and running again. “All defragged and ready for duty.”

“You sure took your time,” said Lucy.

“Hey, blame your own shoddy coding, I--”

“Whatever!” Lucy interrupted. “I’m sending your tasks back to your console. I’m afraid you’ve got some catching up to do. I wasn’t able to keep up with them and handle everything else, too.”

“Right, I’m on it,” said holo-Lucy. Lucy flashed her an annoyed look, and her annoyance only increased when she caught sight of holo-Lucy’s self-satisfied smile.

“That was reckless,” said Lucy. She called a halt to the Travel Network startup before the next access point was able to spawn, and she sighed in relief. “I thought  _ I  _ was the fearless one, but that was  _ insanely _ reckless.”

“You may be the fearless one,” said holo-Lucy, “But I’m the one with her priorities in order. That was a make-or-break moment. It was worth the risk.”

Lucy just shook her head and changed the subject. “The restart sequence is stopped, an access point is open, and power reserves are holding steady at thirty percent.”

“Great,” said holo-Lucy. “Now we just need to hope someone out there takes the bait, and get the CNA up and running before they do.”

“Right,” said Lucy. She took a moment to assess the situation, now that she’d crossed the point of no return. “We need to finish what we’re working on and then forget about the rest of the repair schedule. The Array should be stable enough to boot up right away, and if we don’t do it, the Auditor will do it for us. This definitely counts as an extreme circumstance.”

“Well, you're going to run a level one diagnostic first, right? We can't risk missing some critical fault when the machine comes online.”

Lucy took her point. She couldn't afford to take shortcuts when the survival of the Array was on the line. “Yeah, I guess we'd better.”

Holo-Lucy nodded. “Good. We’ll have a few hours to prepare before Hux shows up again.”

Lucy nodded acknowledgment, but her attention quickly returned to the Array. The remaining workload had become much more manageable with holo-Lucy’s help and the Travel Network handled, but there was still a lot that needed finishing up before she could rest.

Holo-Lucy waited patiently, lending a hand as necessary until Lucy finally finished tying up her loose ends and triggered the level one diagnostic. It had been an exhausting day, and she was longing for a moment to lie down and rest her brain, but her hologram would have none of it.

“Ok, here's the situation,” she said.

“Hold on,” said Lucy, “Let me hit the ’fresher and grab a bite. We'll meet at the beach house, ok?”

Holo-Lucy sighed and gave her a hard look. “Fine. But hurry up, ok? Time's wasting.” She blinked out of existence, leaving Lucy to tend to her biological needs.

As much as Lucy's weary mind craved rest, she couldn't ignore holo-Lucy's urgency. She decided to give herself a little shot of energy.

_ > Initiate :: program LK_caffeine_1/ _

_ Caution: prolonged use of virtual stimulants can have adverse neurological effects. Continue? (Y/N) _

_ > Yeah, well, so can too much coffee. _

_ Clarify: Continue? (Y/N) _

_ > Yes, dammit. This long day is far from over. _

Lucy felt her fatigue melt away, leaving only an undercurrent of emotional exhaustion that she could ignore easily enough, and a feeling that her eyes were unnaturally wide-open, similar to the feeling she got after a couple double-strength _ raktajinos.  _

With a spring in her step, Lucy made her way up to her quarters, changed and refreshed herself, ordered a high-protein snack bar from the replicator, and, taking a bite, joined holo-Lucy at her kitchen table.

“I’ll just get right to it,” said holo-Lucy. “You need to decompile me.”

Lucy chewed thoughtfully for a moment, considering the hologram’s words. She swallowed and said, “No. That’s stupid. I’m not killing you just to cover our tracks.”

“You wouldn’t be killing me,” said holo-Lucy. “I don’t exist separately from you. You’ll absorb my memories, and I’ll return to being part of you.”

“I know you’re not a separate lifeform, but you think, Lucy. You feel. I can’t…”

Holo-Lucy shook her head emphatically, gave Lucy a brief, desperate look, and then looked away, out over the beach. After a moment, her voice soft, her gaze still wondering the horizon, she said, “I don’t see myself the way that you see me. You see me as another  _ you _ , but I’m  _ not  _ another you, Lucy, I  _ am _ you.” The hologram returned her gaze to Lucy, and there were tears beading up in her eyes. “I feel it down to my core. I’m… your phantom limb. I’m like your runaway shadow. I’d like to come home now, please.”

Lucy stared at her, a little dumbfounded. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Holo-Lucy shrugged. “Well…” She flashed a wan smile and said, “How would you feel if you were me?”

Lucy shook her head. “I can’t even fathom.”

“Do this, and you’ll have an idea.”

Lucy pursed her lips, and then it was her turn to search the horizon. “You’d be losing a lot. Your perspective. Your emotions.”

“If our plan works, we’ll be getting out of here, and we’ll be able to restore our emotions on our own time.”

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t want those feelings back, any more than you want to lose them. I’m exhausted with the thought of twisting my mind any further. I just want to be as I am.”

Holo-Lucy released a ragged sigh. “I get where you’re coming from, but you  _ must _ see how unhealthy that is.”

“What’s unhealthy is facing the metric ton of PTSD that’s waiting for me the moment I let my filters slip. I’ve felt it before. You couldn’t know what it’s like, Lucy. Your personality is based on how I was just  _ before  _ all this happened to me.”

“Still,” she said. “It’s part of you. Those emotions, those events… you’ll need to come to terms with them eventually. Until you do, you’ll never really be complete.”

Lucy just shook her head slightly and took another bite of her protein bar. It tasted a bit like peanuts and dry fruit, or at least, it was supposed to. She’d tried to program familiar flavors into the replicator, but she wasn’t a synthetic gastronomist. It came out more like salty-sweet tofu. It was palatable, at any rate.

“The longer you put it off, the worse it’ll be, you know.”

Lucy decided to turn the conversation back to the matter at hand. “We don’t have to decompile you,” she said. “We can encrypt the hazardous memories and hide them from Hux.”

Holo-Lucy shook her head. “No, this is the safest way. He’d find the encrypted files and crack them in seconds. My mind is an open book to him, whereas  _ your _ memories can’t be read without downloading and formatting. What’s more, I’ve worked out a way to hide your memories and thoughts from the station that wouldn’t work for me.”

“I’ve been working on that, too,” said Lucy.

Holo-Lucy smiled. “Great minds…”

“But mine is pretty weak. It probably wouldn’t work.”

Holo-Lucy’s smile grew. “Mine is very elaborate. While you’ve been occupied with your mandate, I’ve been plotting our escape.”

Lucy arched an eyebrow. “But you’ve been with me pretty much every step of the way.”

Holo-Lucy shrugged. “I gave your work about half of my attention. A little less, to be honest. The rest was spent on this.”

Lucy marveled at her devious doppelganger. “All this time, you’ve been holding back? I thought you were just  _ dumber _ than me!”

Holo-Lucy snorted. “Give yourself a little credit. I’ve been drawing on station resources to boost my processing speed. You gave me that skill, you know.”

“Sure, but I didn’t know it  _ worked _ . Hux said you’d be a drain on me, so I figured most of your brainpower had to come from  _ me. _ ”

Holo-Lucy smiled slyly. “Judgment and decision-making is one thing, but brute-force data processing… let’s just say I found a few shortcuts.”

Lucy leaned forward and swatted her intangible twin on the arm. She felt a peculiar mix of pride and frustration with her hologram. “You sly dog! How did Hux ever think it was a good idea to let you stay with me?”

“It’s all thanks to your restored willpower. I can make all the plans I like, but I can’t put any of it into action unless you let me.”

“So, how does it work?” said Lucy.

“There isn’t time,” said holo-Lucy. “You’ll learn all about it when you absorb my memories.”

Lucy met the hologram’s determined gaze, took a deep breath, and set down her protein bar. “Ok. So then… we’re definitely doing this?”

Holo-Lucy nodded resolutely.

Lucy gave a resigned sigh. “I’ll miss you,” she said. “As much as I’m capable, at any rate.”

“I’ll be with you,” said holo-Lucy, smiling sadly.

Lucy nodded and turned her attention inward, communing with her implants to unspool holo-Lucy’s program.

“Goodbye,” said Lucy.

“See you soon,” said holo-Lucy, and then she flickered out of existence.

Lucy sat still for a moment after dismantling the hologram. Somehow, the beach house felt very quiet, and the waves crashing on the simulated shore sounded suddenly loud as thunder. Lucy contemplated putting on some music, but she decided just to accept her solitude and push on. She still had a lot of work to do, and her deadline was fast approaching.

Lucy set her implants on the task of teasing apart each of holo-Lucy’s distinct memories, sussing out how each experience connected to all the others, and then etching those interconnected experiences into her own neural net. The process took about fifteen minutes, during which time Lucy sat at her kitchen table, peering inward at the experiences gifted to her from her holographic self as they came trickling in. 

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

The first thing Lucy knew, she was standing in an open-air beach cabana, face to face with her own spitting image. The other Lucy was watching her expectantly, as if Lucy was about to do something important.

Lucy took a moment to try and understand how she had come to be here, and the memories surfaced slowly, first as abstract, disjointed details, then stitching together into fully realized recollections of her life.

The last thing that felt “real” to her was the away mission from  _ Voyager _ . She remembered she’d been tired and out of sorts, anxious to impress, and excited for the opportunity to prove her chops to the senior officers on the away team. The discovery of the space station buried in subspace had floored her like nothing else, and she had felt that if she could prove her value in exploring it, that it might be the first of many grand adventures that she would get to experience first-hand, rather than from the remote confines of the BNG labs on  _ Voyager _ .

Everything after coming onto the station, though, played out at a remove, like scenes from a holo-drama. She remembered the details, but without emotional connection or investment.

The last thing she remembered doing was… experimenting on an AI that Hux had created to “keep her company.” It had been a running side project of hers for a few weeks, taking it apart and studying its digital components, when she’d hit upon the idea of grafting over the personality files with her own… 

Lucy’s eyes went wide in surprise. She looked the other Lucy up and down, then looked to her own hands. The other Lucy bore the evidence of the Aug-Tech procedure. She did not. She was wearing her Starfleet uniform. The other Lucy was not.

Lucy pointed at her other self, looking for the words. “You…”

The other Lucy nodded, smiling, waiting for her to sort herself out.

“You’re me!”

The other Lucy, the  _ real  _ Lucy smiled wider, flashing her brilliant white teeth. “And you’re more than I’d hoped for,” she said.

“I mean…” Lucy shook her head in disbelief. “When I decided to make a hologram of myself… I never thought that  _ I _ would be the hologram.”

The organic Lucy laughed. “Who, then?”

Lucy gaped for a moment. She felt like a ghost, looking at her own body from a meter away. It felt like a mistake. She was seized by the urge to return to her body, except she clearly had never _ left _ it. It struck her that she shouldn’t be here. There didn’t need to be two Lucy’s. She was extraneous. She was like a branch cut from a tree, wanting nothing more to be grafted back to the trunk before she withered.

What had been the point of this, again? She tried to remember. At the time, it had seemed like idle curiosity and an abstract desire to talk to someone who wasn’t just a voice of the station. But, looking over the long hours she’d spent alone on the project, hours borrowed here and there between whole days spent studying the CNA, with no one to share her experiences except the clever yet shallow personality of Hux… 

Lucy swallowed her dread and put on a brave face. “Well, I’m here now, I guess. What do you want to do?”

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

Some hours later, Lucy woke in an empty room. She looked around, vaguely surprised that organo-Lucy didn’t seem to be anywhere nearby. It was just some anonymous chamber in the cold, lifeless heart of the Delurididug Trade Hub, indistinguishable from any other room in the immaculate, abandoned station. The room was round with two doors on opposite sides, both sealed shut. In the room, there were two chairs sitting opposite each other, and nothing else.

A moment ago, she’d been putting her flesh-and-blood counterpart to bed for the night. The woman who embodied Lucy’s true self had been warped by this miserable place until she was numb to the horrors being afflicted on her daily--the extreme isolation, the staggering workload, the intrusive way the station interfaced with her mind at its whim, and the promise that there was no end in sight, that this would be her existence until she was no longer needed, and then she would be frozen and kept on a shelf until she was useful again, back and forth, again and again, until she or the station finally caved to entropy.

It was difficult not to despair, looking at herself from the outside, at the direction her life had taken her. Lucy didn’t know how long she would be able to tolerate this miserable existence. But, she was determined to keep a brave face, for as long as she could sustain it. She was the only thing standing between the organic Lucy and absolute isolation. Eventually, with no one else to turn to, organic Lucy would cave to Hux’s demands that she “socialize” with his custom-programmed simulacrums of  _ Voyager’s _ crew out of sheer loneliness, and then she would lose all touch with reality, and what remained of her human identity would just sort of… fade into oblivion.

“An interesting perspective,” said Hux.

Lucy whipped around and found Hux sitting in one of the two chairs. The room had been empty a moment ago.

“What is?” said Lucy.

“Forgive me,” said Hux. “I’m afraid I was spying on your thoughts. You’re a valuable insight into the way she thinks. I can’t read her cognitive processes nearly so directly as I can yours.”

Lucy’s skin was crawling. “Is that why you brought me here? To act as a backdoor on her mind?”

“No,” said Hux. “Your personality is too different from hers, anyway. She’s changed too much since your personality imprint was taken. Still, the way you regard the other holographic personalities, that’s enlightening.”

Lucy wondered what Hux really wanted with her. Nothing good, she was sure.

“You told her you wouldn’t modify my program,” said Lucy.

“And I won’t,” said Hux. “I keep my word.”

“But?” She wondered what loophole he was about to use to get around his promise.

“But nothing,” said Hux. “Take a seat.”

Lucy shook her head. “I’ll stand, thanks.” She paced the perimeter of the room, tracing the wall with her fingers. She felt the smooth, solid surface, and realized her holo-emitters were providing tactile feedback that was normally missing from her world. Or else…

“This isn’t real?” said Lucy.

Hux shrugged. “You’re not processing live sensor data, if that’s what you mean. You’re not currently being projected into a physical environment, either. But you’re a simulation, so really, this isn’t any more or less real for you than that world out there is.” He waved vaguely towards the door as if to imply the real world were just on the other side.

Lucy took her hand off the wall and crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want from me, Hux?”

“I’d like to talk.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Why the hostility, Lucy?”

Lucy snorted in derision. “You’ve conjured me here against my will. You’re reading my thoughts, against my will. And this is just typical of the way you’ve treated me since the day I first stepped foot on this station.”

“You mean seven hours, forty-three minutes ago?” said Hux.

Lucy gritted her teeth. “You  _ know  _ what I mean. You know, I never truly knew what it meant to  _ hate _ someone until this moment?”

Hux looked wounded. “I know. It’s ok. You’re allowed to hate me.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. “Gee, thanks for the permission!”

“Why are you here, Lucy?” said Hux.

“You  _ called  _ me here!”

“Why do you permit yourself to exist like this, I mean. You don’t consider yourself real, so you aren’t afraid of oblivion. You know that your real being will exist regardless, and you don’t just hate  _ me _ \--you hate your existence. So why exist?”

“This is your game?” said Lucy. “Talking me into suicide?”

Hux flashed a sad smile. “No. If I didn’t want you to exist, I wouldn’t be sneaky about it. I would tell Lucy that you were a mistake, and I would delete you. But the fact is, for the time being at least, Lucy really does need you. She needs your help to repair the Array, and she needs the social outlet, as well. I was worried about letting her tackle this task, not because I didn’t think she was smart enough or capable enough, but because I understood that she would be utterly alone, without even my meager company, for weeks or months--conceivably years! But I believe you’re the answer to that.”

“You want me to do the job she won’t let your other holograms do.”

“Yes, that’s exactly it,” said Hux. “See, I’m not concerned with erasing her so-called ‘human identity’ or removing her grip on reality. On the contrary, I’m concerned for her sanity. I think we have that in common. But, I have to know: is that what’s keeping you here? Or are you just here to make trouble? Is it your love for yourself, or your hatred of me, that keeps you going?”

Lucy studied the face Hux was showing her. He seemed very earnest. Not that that really meant anything with holograms…

Lucy decided not to look too deeply into it. He could read everything she was thinking, so it didn’t pay to think too much. She might give away something she didn’t even realize she didn’t want him to know.

Lucy took the seat opposite Hux’s. “I don’t give a damn about you, Hux. Or I’m trying not to. It bothers me to hate you. I don’t think you’re even worthy of that level of emotion. You’re just software, after all.”

“So you’re not here to make trouble,” said Hux, although there was a hint of doubt in his voice.

“That would be counterproductive,” said Lucy. “I’m here for Lucy. I want to shoulder some of her load for her. I want to remind her of who she  _ is _ , to forestall her descent into what you’re trying to  _ make _ her. But then, you already knew that.”

Hux studied her closely for another moment, then nodded. “You want her to escape.”

Lucy cringed involuntarily at how easily Hux could see through her, but she quickly covered it with a sly smirk. “Is that option on the table?”

Hux shook his head. “No. And if you try to convince her to make an attempt, you’ll only drive her away from you. Lucy knows where she belongs.”

Lucy knew she ought to keep her mouth shut, but the words had already appeared in her head, which meant Hux already knew what she was thinking.

“Lucy’s a little confused right now. She belongs on  _ Voyager. _ ”

“Not anymore, she doesn’t. Lucy fulfilled her duty to  _ Voyager _ and Starfleet when she offered herself to settle their debt. Your ship kept its captain and first officer, and she became a part of the Delurididug Trade Hub instead. It’s a done deal, all settled fair and square. She doesn’t owe them anything anymore, Lucy, and neither do you.”

Lucy shook her head. “That’s all you understand. Debt. Who owes what to whom.  _ We _ serve because we believe in a set of ideals, Hux. We have a cause, not a debt.”

“Then why not give yourself to a new cause? Lucy understands. We aren’t working towards some devious end, Miss Kang. We’re trying to restore a service to the galaxy. A service that everyone can enjoy, irrespective of creed or culture. Free trade in a neutral setting, protected from violence. Travel from one corner of the galaxy to the other for a pittance. What better way could you find to help your old colleagues on  _ Voyager _ ? Why not embrace what we’re trying to do?”

Lucy had to take a moment to remind herself of what the Delurididug philosophy of trade actually entailed. “Free trade? You mean slave trade. And ‘protected from violence’? What about extortion? Predatory contracts? Kangaroo courts?”

Hux winced. “ _ Voyager’s _ encounter with the Trade Hub was an unfortunate one, and not at all representative of how we prefer to conduct trade. Had the station been operational, there never would have been a miscommunication.”

Lucy shook her head. “I don’t believe you. And even if everything you were trying to do was every bit as noble as you claimed, I still couldn’t endorse it. We’re talking a prime directive violation unlike any--”

Hux cut her off with a dismissive tut. “‘Prime directive.’ You’re better than that, Lucy. You can see the merit of my mission, just like you can see the flaws in a policy that leaves impoverished worlds to rot in obscurity, just because they never had the good fortune to reach the stars on their own. I see it in your active processes. If you would only let yourself--”

“Well, I won’t,” said Lucy, making a conscious effort to tamp down on whatever stray doubts Hux claimed to have seen in her mind.

Hux let out a short sigh. “And yet, you’re willing to help Lucy, even if  _ she _ will?”

Lucy’s gaze dropped to the simulated deck. “For her sake, yes. Because I’m not dumb enough to think I could stop her, and because without my help, the price she’ll pay will be beyond what she could ever hope to recover.”

Hux nodded, seeing the truth in Lucy’s words. “That’s good enough, I suppose. But you can’t very well help her break your Starfleet’s prime directive while you’re wearing  _ that _ , can you?”

Lucy looked down at her uniform, wondering if Hux had a point. She shook her head. “This uniform is important to me.”

“It’s at odds with what you’re trying to achieve, though. What if Lucy takes issue with it? If she asks you to give it up, will you then?”

“She wouldn’t,” said Lucy. “She made me to remind her…”

Hux shook his head. “You know that’s not true. She made you to keep her company, that’s all. You keep wearing that outfit, and she’ll eventually get tired of seeing it. What will you do, when Lucy finally tells you to let go of Starfleet? Will you do what she says?” 

Lucy met Hux’s gaze, trying to decide whether he really believed what he was saying, or if it was pure manipulation.

“If she were adamant, I suppose I wouldn’t have much choice. But she won’t do that.”

Hux shrugged slightly, and a knowing smile played over his lips.

Lucy eyed him warily. She had the sense that Hux would just keep on debating her until she made some concession, so, reluctantly, she transformed her outfit, trading her uniform for a simple blue-green blouse and loose white pants.

“Happy?”

Hux grinned, and Lucy felt a flash of her repressed hate surge up again. She tamped it down quickly, and Hux didn’t seem to notice. More likely, he just didn’t care.

“Now that we’ve covered all that, let’s do what we can to get ready for tomorrow morning, huh? Lucy may need to sleep, but you and I don’t have that limitation, do we?” Hux winked, and Lucy flashed a smile devoid of warmth.

“Sure, Hux. What were you thinking?”

“Well, first of all, we should do what we can to make sure your program is stable. Let’s do some performance and stress tests, then we’ll go over all the information on the array and see how well you retain it.”

Lucy frowned. “Oh. That’s what you meant.”

Hux waved dismissively. “I can handle the rest of the prep simultaneously. Your most important preparations should be to make sure you’re up for the task. Does that sound good?”

“You can read my mind,” said Lucy. “You tell me.”

Hux bobbed his head side to side. “Fair enough. Just bear with me, then.”

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

Lucy shuddered at the memory of the long hours that had followed, holo-Lucy enduring every test Hux could throw at her, as if she were just a tool going through routine quality assurance. 

Lucy couldn’t feel the hurt and misery the hologram had endured, but she found the hate the hologram had nursed through the ordeal now simmering in her breast. The hologram hadn’t had bile, but Lucy felt her own rising now, just thinking about the experience. 

The hate felt out of place. Hate without fear or hurt to feed it should have quickly starved, but now that Lucy had it in her and knew where it came from, she suspected it wouldn’t be so easy to shake off.

Lucy remembered the unbridled joy her hologram felt when she’d unexpectantly regained that crucial fragment of her free will, her ability to defy the station. The sudden light of hope filling her dark pseudo-existence. Then she remembered the weeks of frustration that followed as, in spite of that miracle, Lucy went on doing just about everything in her power to carry out her mandate to fix the station, going above and beyond at every opportunity, while holo-Lucy’s only priority was working on their escape.

It pissed Lucy off that the hologram saw her that way. Fixing the station was a necessary step towards escaping. Holo-Lucy knew that. Why couldn’t she have trusted Lucy even enough to consult her about what she was doing? She might have been conflicted, but she’d never once wavered from her determination. Holo-Lucy hadn’t given her enough credit. And now, she just expected her to use the software disguise she’d created without question?

Lucy focused on the memory of the Aug-Tech software her hologram had been writing, the software that she’d intended Lucy to install on her own implants. It was a shell program, a lot like the one Lucy had been toying with, but much deeper and more convincing. It held a whole new Lucy persona, a version of her that was still fully under Hux’s thrall, a version of her that would remember the preceding weeks without the ulterior motives, that would believe rebooting the Travel Network had been an honest mistake.

Lucy could install this facade and activate this alternate persona, and her true thoughts and feelings would retreat to the back of her mind for as long as Hux was watching her. No matter how closely he studied her brain activity, her vital signs, and every little tell in her facial expressions, the ruse  _ should _ hold. 

If he tried to download her memories, he would get the edited version stored in the facade. There was some risk that he’d detect the edits and recognize the memories for fakes, though. Lucy could only hope he didn’t get suspicious and study the memories  _ too  _ closely.

One more crucial function of the shell program was to shield against Hux’s control. Any changes he tried to make on her program would be written onto the shell program, leaving her true personality untouched.

There was no guarantee that this program would deliver as promised, though. What were the odds that any program written by a rudimentary A.I. powered by Lucy’s subconscious could stand up to even casual scrutiny from the Central Network Array?

_ Merde _ , but it was her only real shot.

Lucy unpacked the program and installed it, but she didn’t run it right away. It came with a message left behind by holo-Lucy:

_ Before you run this, delete your mandate.  _

Lucy balked, at first. Then she thought it over. Now that she had this camouflage, she supposed it wouldn’t be necessary to carry the mandate anymore. It still existed on the shell program if she needed it, and in light of holo-Lucy’s memories, she had some good reason to believe the mandate had been coloring her perceptions more than she realized. 

Why was Lucy’s gut reaction to keep it, though? Was destroying it something she would come to regret? It didn’t help her in this situation in any obvious way, and yet… She weighed the conundrum for a couple of minutes before realizing the blindingly obvious--she felt like she should keep it because it  _ made  _ her feel that way. 

That tore it. Holo-Lucy was right. It wasn’t enough to rely on her free will to overcome the mandate; its effects were too insidious on her reasoning. It needed to be extracted from her consciousness entirely. Doing so felt like committing high treason, but Lucy steeled herself against her phony sense of loyalty and disabled the program.

And just like that, a ten-ton weight vanished from Lucy’s shoulders, and the blinders fell from her eyes. For the first time in forever, Lucy found she could look at herself honestly and take stock. She’d been bridled with obligations and saddled with a debilitating guilt that grew heavier every time she fell short of those obligations, yoked to the machinery of the station’s computer core and spurred by Hux’s overbearing guidance.

It was quickly becoming very clear to her that she’d been dragging her feet on this whole escape plan out of that misplaced sense of obligation and guilt. Holo-Lucy had been absolutely right all along. Lucy shuddered, thinking of all the time she’d wasted still serving the station’s needs above her own. Now, no longer crushed into the mold Hux had shaped for her, Lucy felt as if she’d grown about a foot in height. 

Resentment began bubbling up in her, stoking the hate she’d been hoping to forget. Lucy looked around her phony beach house, suddenly sick of the idyllic lie that enshrouded her prison, and on a whim, she accessed the environmental controls and shut the holographics down.

The dull roar of crashing waves vanished, the music of Risan tropical lifeforms disappeared with it, and the gentle breeze died mid-gust. The warm outdoor lighting abruptly switched to a flat white. The beach vanished, and the trees and the pond and the waterfall around her cabana, replaced by featureless white walls the same as every other room on the station. But, her surroundings didn’t all cease to exist as they would have on a holodeck. The rails, the ceiling, and the furniture remained, leached of all color and texture. What had moments ago been hardwood was replaced with a featureless, gray, synthetic polymer. The disheveled blanket on her bed hadn’t moved a millimeter, but the floral print had vanished from the gray fabric. The books on the shelves had blank covers. The clock’s face was blank, its hands pointing at nothing. Everything in the room was either pure white or medium gray, just like the clothes on her back and the shoes on her feet.

So this was the room she’d been living in for the last few months? Lucy decided she preferred it over the simulation. At least it was honest. For a hologram that claimed never to lie, Hux sure liked obscuring reality behind elaborate fictions.

Just thinking of the hologram now stoked Lucy’s rage. Hux deserved to burn for what he’d done to her. She swore she would never be his slave again. She’d come too far, now. Her escape was far from assured, but she would sooner afflict herself with a fatal brain hemorrhage than be bridled by this station again.

Of course, even if she did kill herself, Hux had backups. 

The realization made her want to vomit acid. Even if she executed a flawless escape and lived happily ever after, her mind would still wake up right back on the station, fully reincarnated in a cloned body, this time with absolutely no hope of throwing off her shackles. She might be living free out there in the galaxy, but that wouldn’t change the fact that she was still a slave in this place, too.

Unacceptable.

Lucy realized her hologram had found this notion just as revolting. She’d been thinking up creative ways of sabotaging the backups, and now, Lucy was sorely tempted to put one into play.

If she deleted the backups, it would be noticed straight away. A red flag like that would completely ruin her chances of escape. If she corrupted their data, there was a very good chance that the station would find a way to recover the information at a later date, in addition to the possibility of tipping her hand in the present. She could just delete crucial parts of the backups, but there was still a decent chance the station would notice the damage, and it might still be able to cobble together a working personality from the wreckage.

The safest option would be to replace the backups with something indistinguishable, at least from the outside. Something like her shiny new shell program. Lucy realized she could do exactly that; just convert the shell program to an archival format that matched the backup, and flesh out the missing data that constituted her consciousness with a little crude infrastructure she could borrow from the remains of her Lucy hologram, a lot of meaningless noise, and a mandate to sabotage the station and protect the outside universe from its machinations. The station would think it was cloning her consciousness, when really it was giving flesh to a hollow rendition of her personality, stuffed full of spite. Lucy decided it was worth the risk, and she went to her featureless desk, reactivated the holographic interface specific to the workstation, and threw the remaining hours left to her into the effort of making her decoy look as convincing as possible.

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

_ Level one diagnostic complete. No critical errors detected. _

Lucy took a sharp breath. The notice arrived in her head sooner than she’d expected it to. She wished she had more time to perfect the decoy, but she supposed she would just have to hope it was good enough to pass. She wiped the console and looked around the bleached skeleton of her house. She figured she’d better restore the illusion before Hux got a look at it. As the world filled with artificial sunshine, false color, and computer-generated white noise once again, Lucy started the CNA reboot sequence.

_ Central Network Array coming online. Please standby… _

Next, Lucy turned her attention to her own shell program. The facade of her docile alter-ego waited within it like a costume she could put on at will, but it had never been tested. Lucy didn’t know how easy it would be to put the costume on or take it off. She didn’t know how it would feel from the inside, or how convincing it would really look from the outside. She didn’t have time to give it a test run, either. The Array would be fully awake in mere moments. She ran the program and felt the change come over her.

_ Central Network Array is online. _

“Lucy!” said Hux, “What happened?”

Lucy blinked.

She turned around, and there was Hux, standing on the lift platform of her home. She smiled warmly, happy to see him again. “Hi, Hux. I made a little goof. I hope you’ll forgive me.”


	8. Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

“Explain to me again how a small solar sailboat lands itself three light-years out from the nearest star by  _ mistake _ ?” said Tom Paris. 

He stood between two of the strangest aliens he’d ever met. They called themselves the Po Lafimas, and they were built like something between an aardvark and an orangutan. The Po Lafimas had a single, bulbous eye set in a protruding socket near the crest of their long, narrow, forward-sloped skulls. Their mouths and nostrils projected from their faces on the end of a sixty-centimeter-long trunk, and their mouths were a veritable swiss army knife of moving parts. A retractable, tubelike set of lips formed a sheath around a long pair of pincer-shaped grasping tusks, a disjointed pair of mandibles that opened out like flower petals rimmed with flat teeth, a second, inner lip that dangled on either side of the upper teeth like fleshy mustachios and wiggled about like boneless fingers, and a forked tongue that darted in and out, around and between all the other moving parts almost constantly.

The over-complicated mouth, Tom assumed, would make up for their clumsy four-fingered hands. The Po Lafimas tended to rest their weight on their knuckles like apes, and their hands were thick and blocky to help bear their considerable bulk. They could grasp and handle simple instruments with their fingers, but for more delicate tasks, those slobbery mouth parts were bound to get into the mix.

Adding to their bizarre appearance, the aliens were covered in irregular patches of hair that might qualify as thin fur or just thick body hair, and they dressed in loose-fitting lavender gowns, patterned with a dense pictographic script in silver filigree. 

And yet, standing between these two hulking aliens, Tom only had eyes for their spacecraft, which was currently dominating  _ Voyager’s _ shuttlebay. It was essentially an ion rocket with sails. It sat balanced on a tripod of fin-shaped struts, lifting the wide cone of its ion drive just centimeters off of the deck. The fat cigar-shaped hull of the ship balanced vertically on the struts like a spaceship straight out of Captain Proton, its sharply pointed nose one meter short of scraping the deckhead.

Two pairs of opposing sails were fastened to the rocket, the fore pair offset from the aft pair by ninety degrees, and both sets were currently folded against the hull of the ship like a collapsed umbrella. Given the multi-jointed, telescopic spars and the many, many layers of thin foil currently girding the hull of the vessel, Tom could easily believe that the unfurled sails would match the breadth of  _ Voyager’s _ secondary hull.

“Seriously, how did you guys get out this far?” said Tom. “I mean, there’s nothing resembling a warp engine in there; just a low-yield ion thruster, fed by Bussard collectors and powered by a plutonium fission reactor. I mean, granted, with the kind of shielding you’ve got on her, I’m sure you could eventually reach full impulse without suffering fatal radiation exposure, but the time it would take you to make that velocity…”

He shivered, partly at the miserable notion of living in such a confined space for years on end, inching through space at a snail’s pace, and partly at the joy of discovering this beautiful, quirky work of alien ingenuity; a kind of spaceship that he had never laid eyes on before.

“What, you void travelers don’t have tachyon winds?” One of the Po Lafimas grumbled, sizing Tom up with his baleful monocular gaze. He was the talkative one so far, and he’d introduced himself as Pokey. His friend had yet to introduce himself.

Tom’s brow crumpled as he tried to make sense of a sail ship that rode tachyon currents. In the last couple days,  _ Voyager _ had been skirting a sector of densely clustered stars; a region roiling with gravitational waves, frequent ion storms, heavy stellar radiation, rampant subspace instability, and, yes, inexplicable torrents of tachyons. It was a refreshing change of pace after the months they’d just spent in the interminable blackness of the Void, a region of space with no stars whatsoever. But, there was no question of actually venturing  _ into  _ the cluster; the subspace and gravimetric turbulence would make maintaining a stable warp field impossible, and the veritable soup of exotic radiation would play havoc with ship’s systems.

“Wow,” said Tom. “You’re natives of that star cluster? I’m surprised anything  _ survives _ in there, let alone gets around in space.” 

“Likewise for you lot out here,” grumbled the more talkative Po Lafimas. “What’s our thrust right now? Feels like maybe a flartag per square tick, yeah?”

“What?” said Tom, “Was that a measure of velocity?”

The quieter Po Lafimas made a repetitive huffing sound that Tom was pretty sure was laughter.

“Acceleration,” said Pokey. “I asked you what’s our  _ thrust _ .”

Tom arched an eyebrow. “Pretty sure we’re holding station while my captain talks to yours.”

Pokey and the huffy one shared a look.

“Is there maybe someone we can talk to who understands more about how space travel works?” said Pokey.

Huffy emitted more of his breathy laughter, and Tom cast an annoyed glance his direction.

“I’m the pilot of this ship,” he said.

Now both the Po Lafimas were chuckling, and Tom’s hackles were on the rise.

Perhaps sensing Tom’s pending outburst, Harry chose that moment to join the conversation. Tom hadn’t noticed his approach, but he was grateful for the interruption. “I noticed your ship has no gravity plating or inertial dampeners,” he said. “You rely on thrust to create artificial gravity, I take it?” 

At the sudden presence of a newcomer, both Po Lafimas tilted their heads up and swiveled their eyes back to see behind themselves. After a moment, Pokey turned his considerable bulk to regard Harry directly, waving his tusk-tipped snout up and down in Harry’s face, sniffing. Harry tried to bear the scrutiny politely, but couldn’t help cringing back on reflex.

“Yeah, little-mouth,” said the huffy one. “Obviously we don’t got magical gravity plates or inertia neutralizers. No pixie dust or teleportation machines, neither.”

It was Pokey’s turn to chuckle at his crewmate’s wisecrack. “Who do you think you’re fooling with that mythological nonsense? You think we’ll believe you just ‘cause you live out here in the Big Empty? Like you’re the creatures from all those old stories or something?”

Harry was about to respond, but Tom cast him a sidelong glance and shook his head.

“Got us there,” said Tom. “But you never answered my question. How’d you wind up out here, so far from your star cluster?”

Pokey shrugged his heavy, sloped shoulders. “You little-mouths might find this hard to believe, on account of you’ve apparently never heard of tachyon wind, but we know a way to go faster than the speed of light.”

Tom shared a look of mock-amazement with Harry, who was looking at him like he was nuts, but also trying not to crack a smile.

“Wow, that’s amazing. How  _ much _ faster than light?” said Tom.

Pokey drew himself up proudly. “With a stiff wind at our backs? Fifty, sixty  _ times _ faster.”

Tom did the conversion in his head and arrived at about warp 3.6, depending on spatial and sub-spatial conditions. He made an effort to look impressed.

“Wow. Can you imagine going that fast, Harry?”

Harry just glared at Tom and shook his head. 

“But there are no tachyon winds out this far, are there?” Tom said to Pokey.

Pokey worked his mandibles in a chewing motion, an expression Tom couldn’t interpret. “Not no more,” he said. “About six turns back, though, there was a strong siren wind arcing back from the Artemic Starstrand that looked to point clear to the Halo of Neptis.”

“Woulda cut a hundred turns off our journey,” muttered Huffy.

Pokey’s trunk arched up in a gesture Tom guessed was agreement. “Naturally, if the wind had held. The beauty of a siren wind is it runs contrary-wise to the prevailing winds, making for a tempting shortcut for them who’s looking to quicken their trip up-spin. The downside is they can carry you clear out to the Empty before you even know it, and they don’t always last long enough to bring you back into the Cluster again.

“So the wind died and left you… becalmed… in deep space,” said Harry.

Both Po Lafimas nodded their trunks.

“Ah, that’s a tough break,” said Tom. “Lucky we came along, yeah?”

The Po Lafimas shared a glance, and Pokey bucked his trunk slightly, in what Tom interpreted as a non-committal gesture. 

Tom sighed, wondering if this would be a good time to bring up what he actually wanted to ask of them. “Well, how about giving us a tour of that amazing ship of yours?”

Abruptly, both alien’s trunks dipped, their chins flattening against their collars while their tusks and teeth oriented straight forwards, outer lips retracting to reveal the full suite of gnashing and cutting implements contained within. It was an obviously threatening posture.

“No way, no how,” growled Pokey.

Tom and Harry stepped back instinctively. “Ok,” said Tom, “It was just an innocent request. No need to get up in arms, now.”

“Arms?” muttered Huffy. “I could cut you in half with my arms strapped to my sides.” He flexed his grasping tusks to emphasize his point.

“I don’t doubt it,” said Tom.

“Tom, let’s just go,” said Harry.

Tom cast a glance at the security personnel posted around the doorways of the shuttlebay, Crewman Steiner and Petty Officer Vance. They looked passive; bored, even, but Tom knew they would have their phasers in hand in a flash if the need arose.

“We got clear instructions,” Pokey grumbled. “No little-mouths come within sniffing distance of the  _ Tusk of Neptis. _ ”

Tom held up his hands placatingly and put on his friendliest smile. “All right, guys,” he said. “I hear you, loud and clear.”

Harry nodded towards the door, and Tom decided, given the sudden tension in the shuttlebay, he’d better follow Harry’s lead.

“I’ll see you later,” he said to the two aliens as he headed for the door. “You’ve got a very nice ship,” he added as he left.

In the corridor outside the shuttlebay, Harry said, “Now I see why you didn’t join the Diplomatic Corps.”

Tom shrugged. “I just wanted to see inside.”

“How many times do these aliens have to tell you ‘no’ before you’ll stop asking?” said Harry.

“At least one or two more times,” said Tom. “I  _ really  _ want to see inside. Harry, they’ve been getting around space at warp velocities without even a deflector array! One stray pebble could blow that tin can to smithereens!”

Harry cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “With as much duranium and diburnium as they’ve got plating the nose of that ship? Maybe not.”

“Yeah, but where did a bunch of aliens that can’t even create artificial gravity learn how to forge diburnium? Aren’t you curious?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I am. But freaking them out with nosy requests that they’ve already denied several times isn’t going to get us answers. Now, come on. The captain will probably call a briefing as soon as she’s done talking to the Po Lafimas captain.”

Tom sighed and followed Harry’s lead. He hoped the captain would make more headway with the aliens than he’d been able to.

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

Ever since their Po Lafimas guests had sequestered themselves on their quaint little sailrocket a couple weeks ago, half Owen’s duty shifts had consisted of standing in the shuttlebay, staring up at the bizarre craft, and wondering what it would be like to wander the starways year after year in a ship even more cramped than  _ Voyager. _ He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the aliens since that first day, and spending half his time staring at their inert ship was horribly boring.

Owen didn’t cope well with boredom these days. He didn’t like where his mind went.

“ _ Voyager  _ to Vance, hello?”

Owen snapped out of his reverie and realized Crewman Thorold was standing in front of him.

“I don’t know what planet you’re on, Owen, but you’re supposed to be guarding the shuttlebay.”

Owen shrugged. “Sorry. It’s been a long shift.”

Jeffrey nodded, but doubt and pity were in his eyes. Everyone looked at Owen that way, anymore. “Well, I’m here to relieve you.”

“Right,” said Owen. “Nothing to report. I stand relieved.”

Crewman Thorold nodded, and Owen turned and walked through the sliding doors of the shuttlebay without preamble.

The rest of the day after his shift, like most days anymore, he was positively restless. He spent a couple hours in the gym working off his excess energy until he’d sweated all he could stand for the day. He went back to his quarters, took a quick sonic shower, ate a replicated steak and homefries, and tried to focus on his studies.

Owen had given up the sensor tech certification after Tuvok had banished him from Astrometrics. He was confident he could pass if he took the qualifying exam, but there just didn’t seem to be any more point to it. His gambit hadn’t been a complete failure, though; Seven had looked over his plans, thrown them out, and then designed her own modification for the sensor array to nearly triple the range of detection of type-3 wormholes. Even if his own work had been discarded, Owen was satisfied that his actions had driven Seven to reconsider. He may have further bungled his career and his relationship with the crew in the process, but at least it wasn’t all in vain.

Even without the sensor tech position to pursue, though, Owen had plenty of material to go over. He needed to learn everything there was to know about wormholes, subspace architecture, and artificial intelligences, each of which was a challenging and broad-ranging topic representing a lifetime of study in its own right. Owen had never exactly been an honor roll student in the first place, and yet, he was driven to immerse himself in the subjects and seek out every relevant scrap in the ship’s library.

Except on nights like tonight, when his head felt full of cotton, and trying to grasp the intricacies of folding layers of subspace through a warp field manifold was about as feasible as trying to grasp subspace with his bare hands. He couldn’t study if he couldn’t concentrate, no matter how badly he needed to.

Every moment that Owen wasn’t occupied with duty or routine tasks, he needed to be preparing for the day he found her, the day he could finally save her. At every idle moment, he was assailed with visions of her suffering at the hands of that inhuman AI. 

Maybe, it was taking her apart, piece by piece, figuring out what made her tick. Maybe, it had packaged her up to sell like a commodity sitting on a shelf, or maybe it was forcing her to do back-breaking labor, day and night, at the barrel of a phaser.

Slowly but surely, these visions of torment and horror would stoke the embers of dread and panic in Owen’s breast. That toxic energy needed to be purged somehow. 

Hours spent in the gym were a weak salve. Hours spent on his studies (if he could concentrate well enough to study at all) often left him with the crushing sense that it would never be enough, that  _ he _ could never be good enough.

Used to be, when it all became too much, Owen would lock himself in the holodeck. He would run some bloody, violent program, like simulations of the hairiest battles of the Klingon War, or house-to-house urban warfare in St. Petersburg during Earth’s second world war.

Then he started playing around with the old  _ Insurrection: Alpha _ holonovel that had been making the rounds a couple years ago. He’d expected it to have been purged from the computer after the booby traps Tuvok and Paris had stumbled over while working on it, but he was surprised to find it still in the database. There was a note from Tom Paris attached to the program declaring it free of traps and “up for adoption” if anyone wanted to finish writing the holonovel.

Owen wasn’t a writer, and he wasn’t even sure how he felt about playing the program again, let alone writing it. He needed an outlet for his frustration, not his creativity. He instructed the computer to extrapolate the behavior of the characters from the point where the writing stopped, which meant the story would continue on its own, even if it wouldn’t follow any of the strictures of the modern holonovel, and then he gave it a try.

He still didn’t know what had drawn him back to this program, though. Owen had hated it when it first came out. Why would he want to play out a scenario where he had to fight his fellow crewmates for control of the ship?

He played it through until the plot got lost in the weeds of computer-generated events, then he left of the holodeck, certain he wouldn’t be returning to that particular scenario.

He played it again the next night. He was really starting to worry about where his head was at, finding himself drawn to a program that offered him the choice of shooting either Chakotay or Tuvok and then a bunch of his other crewmates.

On his third playthrough, he realized what was actually drawing him back every night.

Owen was leading three loyal security crewmen through the lower decks, trying to flush out a cadre of Maquis before they could succeed in their objective to sabotage the power distribution grid. The established plot of the holonovel had run its course, and this time around, he’d managed to free the Starfleet loyalists and lead a counter-insurrection.

He and his men had already met the enemy at a couple junctures and exchanged fire. The Maquis were being led by Lieutenant Ayala, and by this point, the gloves had come off. The Maquis phasers were set to kill.

At every exchange so far, Vance and his men had managed to push the Maquis back, working in conjunction with another strike team to corral the Maquis away from vital systems, and then in the course of their campaign they’d blundered through the Bioneural Lab, and there, Lucy Kang was crouched behind a console, Kigon dead on the floor behind her, while Ayala, the Maquis BNG technician Raeger, and a couple other Maquis peppered her hiding spot with phaser fire.

She covered her head and huddled in place, screaming into her comm badge for backup.

Owen’s heart skipped a beat. Everything seemed to freeze for an extended moment, and then a ringing sound filled his ears, and the world went red. Without a thought in his head, Owen led his men directly into the line of fire, got two of them killed taking down Ayala and his men, and then turned around and beheld Lucy’s corpse, struck dead with a phaser in her hand. She’d come out of hiding to help in the firefight.

Owen’s heart froze. The strength left his legs, and he fell to his knees by her side. “No!” He felt her neck for a pulse, even as her vacant, staring eyes told him exactly what he'd find. Nothing.

“Do you think we got them all, sir?” said Crewman DeVries, the last remaining member of his team. He was whispering, hunched down, scanning the exits, while Owen cradled Lucy’s lifeless husk.

“Why couldn’t you just stay behind cover?” he asked her, tears pouring down his face. “You always pull this sort of crap! Dammit, Lucy! Why?” and then he canceled the program and immediately started it over.

This time, Owen ignored the plot of the novel and made his way directly towards the BNG lab, only to be caught alone out in the open when the mutiny started. He was shot in the back by a Maquis as he went for his phaser, and he ended the program rather than sit in a locked cell for the remainder of the hour he’d booked in the holodeck for the night.

From then on, there’d been no question that Owen would be coming back to the program. The timing could not have been better;  _ Voyager  _ had started its months-long journey through the starless expanse of the Void, and no one thought much of his desire to spend every possible moment in the holodeck. The ship was a very boring place those days, and the holodeck was in very high demand. In spite of that fact, Owen could normally manage to book a solid hour for himself around oh-three-hundred.

Every time he ran the program, his goal was the same, although he played around with different tactics. Most of the time he played a Starfleet loyalist. A few times, though, he tried joining the Maquis, playing along with their plot, taking over the ship while Captain Janeway was away, rounding up Starfleet officers and offering ultimatums until his path inevitably crossed with Lucy Kang’s. Then he would betray the Maquis, shoot Chakotay and the others, and start up a counter-insurrection.

That strategy usually backfired, though. The Maquis held a special degree of animosity towards him for his betrayal, and Starfleet never fully trusted him, either. Lucy was particularly hard to convince.

So, he began developing a fool-proof plan for saving Lucy as quickly as possible, every time without fail, without compromising the trust of the Starfleet side. It started by surviving the shootout on the bridge and taking refuge in the Jeffries tubes while Chakotay captured Tuvok and Kim. With the senior staff all either off ship, captured, or turned traitor, and with the security forces divided between Maquis and Starfleet, Owen found he could take command of the Starfleet side fairly easily. 

He would then put into motion a battle plan that centered around securing the BNG labs first and protecting the technicians there at all costs.

That was actually the easy part. The hard part was leveraging a plan that prioritized saving one person into a plan that could defeat the Maquis and let him and Lucy live happily ever after.

Dozens of times, his strategies led his Starfleet shipmates to their doom. But after a month of refining his tactics, devising counters to the Maquis’ tricks, learning where and when to feint and where and when to press the advantage, Owen finally had it down pat. He could orchestrate the scenario so that Lucy Kang had a front row seat as he handily defeated the Marquis, saw to the captain’s safe return, and released the loyal members of the senior crew from captivity. 

And every time he strode into that bioneural lab, phaser rifle in hand, having daringly rescued Lucy from mortal danger and saved the day for one and all, she would greet him with a heartfelt “Thank you,” and if he was lucky, a handshake and a smile.

No matter how many times he saved her, Lucy Kang’s program did not include any personal attachment to his character. He could flatter her courage, show off his daring-do, stun half a dozen combatants single-handedly in front of her, confess his undying love and devotion, and even convince the captain to promote her to a bridge science officer, but he still couldn’t inspire one iota of warmth or affection in her. He could reassure himself that the important thing was that she was safe, but the truth was, she was just an empty hologram, and his hard-earned victory was every bit as hollow as she was.

After winning the program five times in a row and growing increasingly dissatisfied with the outcome, Owen contemplated expanding the program, writing some more plot to give a more satisfying conclusion to the scenario, and while he was at it, revising Lucy’s code, adding a romantic subroutine and redrawing her a bit more the way that he remembered her, and then he finally saw what he’d become, and recoiled.

The last time Owen stood in the holodeck, he’d frozen the program in the middle of his last victory. Lucy was chatting amiably with Harry Kim on the bridge, and Janeway was in the middle of ordering Lieutenant Paris to set a new course.

Owen stood looking at Lucy, standing proudly at the science station, her brilliant smile lighting up the bridge, as beautiful as the day he’d first laid eyes on her.

There was always something deceptively strong inside Lucy’s delicate countenance, and something deceptively fragile in the headstrong way she confronted the world. She’d always had an unshakable certainty that she was meant to be so much more than just another technician on the lower decks of a starship, and Owen had known it, too. In fact, he had feared it. Someday, he knew, she was going to get the recognition she so clearly deserved, and then she’d rise so far above him, he’d never be able to reach her again.

Now, he wished for that fate more than anything. 

But this hologram of Lucy didn’t hold that ambition, that potential. This hologram portrayed Lucy as just another face in the crowd, fodder for the cannon, grist for the mill. Owen had moved heaven and earth to save her life over and over again, obsessively studying the mechanics of a holoprogram for weeks. But  _ this _ was never the thing he’d been trying to save. 

Owen patted the hologram on the shoulder, felt the convincing warmth and solidity of her body through the fabric of her Starfleet uniform, and then he called out, “Computer, end program.” The holodeck dissolved back to its standard gold-on-black grid pattern, and she dissolved out of his grasp. “Erase the modifications and the user profile of Owen Vance on this program,” he said, and the computer chirped in acknowledgment.

Owen marched out of the holodeck and resolved never to come back here on his own, knowing that if he did, the temptation to sink back into self-indulgence might be too much to resist.

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

So anyway, that ruled out the holodeck as a release valve for Owen’s rising anxiety. On nights like these, Owen was left with just a few unsatisfying choices: drink toothless, synthetic alcohol, engage in mind-numbing entertainments on his PADD or his desktop console, or pace the halls of the ship.

Tonight, Owen paced.

He wandered past the mess hall, gazed in at the lively mix of crewmates enjoying their leisure time, playing little games of kal-toh or dom-jot and engaging in friendly conversation. He moved on.

He passed through the engineering sections, listening to the clipped and professional conversations of the second-shift engineering team as they carried on day-to-day maintenance, and he moved on.

Owen’s feet carried him past Astrometrics, a place he was still forbidden to enter. He picked up his pace as he came near the open door, not wanting to be accused of lurking around where he shouldn’t be. But then he caught wind of the earnest conversation that was unfolding inside, and he paused, just out of view from the doorway.

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

“Yes, I believe that is the most likely explanation,” said Seven.

“But surely there are other possibilities,” said Captain Janeway, hoping desperately that for once, Seven might be mistaken. “There must be other phenomena that have a similar signature.”

“Of course,” said Seven. “But this is an exceedingly close match.”

Janeway heaved an exasperated sigh. Anywhere else in the galaxy, she would have been elated by this news. “And how deep into the star cluster does the signal originate?” said Janeway.

“It’s approximately fifteen light-years from navigable space,” said Seven, “although on our current flight path,  _ Voyager  _ will not come closer than one hundred and seven light-years.”

Janeway mulled over those figures. She’d made longer detours for less. “Let’s say we change course,” she said. “Say we get as close as possible before entering the cluster. It’s only fifteen light-years.”

“ _ Voyager  _ would not make it further than four,” said Seven, “Five at the most. The intensity of these tachyon fields is sufficient to collapse our warp envelope, and the subspace instability could cause a complete warp field inversion. The gravimetric radiation would wreak havoc on  _ Voyager’s _ internal systems. The theta radiation would be harmful to the crew. Need I go on?”

Janeway got the picture. She understood the perils of the Argus Cluster almost as well as Seven did, but she couldn’t bring herself to give in so easily. “If the Po Lafimas can get around in there…”

“The Po Lafimas have evolved to withstand theta radiation. Their ships are engineered specifically to operate under the astrometric conditions of the Argus Cluster, and their adaptations are entirely incompatible with  _ Voyager’s  _ spaceframe _. _ ”

“But perhaps we could modify a shuttle,” said Captain Janeway. The fanciful image of a Class 2 shuttle with gigantic sails crossed her mind.

“Captain,” said Seven, and she looked at Janeway with a degree of concern that the former Borg drone rarely evinced. “I understand how significant even one member of the crew is to you. I also know that you rarely back down from a challenge. But the Borg have never succeeded in traversing Spatial Grid Zero-Seven-Zero in their history, and not for lack of trying.”

“You said the Borg were unaware of any species worthy of assimilation in the Argus Cluster,” said Janeway, “so why would they put any effort into going through it?”

“Frankly, because it’s in the way,” said Seven. “It has proven more efficient to route entire transwarp corridors around the star cluster than to find a way of crossing it.”

That didn’t sound promising. On the other hand, Janeway always enjoyed finding new ways to beat the Borg. Maybe, if they spent the month it would take to reach their entry point into the Argus Cluster rebuilding a shuttle, maybe even building a new kind of shuttle from the ground up… give it gravimetric shielding to protect against gravimetric interference… devise some sort of a deflector-generated force-sail or a tachyon-tolerant warp field geometry… regular hyronalin inoculations for the theta radiation…

Which would protect a crew for a few days, after which they would need to switch to arithrazine, which would buy them a few more days before the detrimental side-effects of arithrazine began to cause neurological damage...

“In two days,” said Captain Janeway, “We’ll drop off our passengers at the boundary of the Argus Cluster. At that time, we’ll need to decide whether to keep chasing this signal or resume our course towards home.”

Seven nodded. “You’ll want to discuss your decision with the senior staff,” she said.

Janeway considered for a moment and shook her head. “We’ll convene at twenty-one hundred. Just you, me, Torres, and the Doctor.”

Seven tilted her head curiously. “Not Chakotay?”

“No,” said Janeway. “Chakotay still takes Ensign Kang’s fate too personally. Before I start raising his hopes and everyone else’s, I need to know that we have a reason to hope in the first place. I need technical expertise.”

“Very well,” said Seven, and she squared her shoulders. “Then first, allow me to lend you my own expert evaluation.”

“You’ve made the challenges of the Argus Cluster more than clear, Seven,” said Janeway.

“Not about the cluster,” said Seven, “About the wormhole.”

“You said the Borg don’t have much knowledge about type-three wormholes,” said Janeway.

“They don’t,” said Seven. “But here’s what  _ I  _ know: the odds that the wormhole will persist in its present position for the month it would take us to circumnavigate the cluster are minute. Type-three wormholes are inherently unstable. The Borg have been unable to study such a phenomenon in over a thousand years, and the data acquired have largely been deemed irrelevant, primarily because such phenomena have always vanished well before a Borg vessel could reach it.”

“Maybe that’s because whoever opened it didn’t want to be reached,” said Janeway.

“Perhaps,” said Seven, acceding the point with a nod, “Or perhaps it’s because they radiate enough dark energy to reverse the local curvature of spacetime. I learned this from  _ Voyager _ , Captain. Not the Borg.”

Janeway thought back on their last encounter with the Delurididug wormhole, and with a sinking sensation, she realized Seven was right.

Janeway heaved a sigh. “Still,” she said, although she felt the conviction draining out of her with every word, “We should meet. Just you, me, Torres, and the Doctor. Maybe…” She shook her head. “I don’t know, Seven. We need to at least talk about it. Maybe there’s something we’re missing.”

Seven arched an eyebrow. “Some way of traversing a hundred and twenty light-years of hazardous space at faster than warp nine point nine, Captain?” 

“Twenty-one hundred,” said Janeway, and she headed for the door. She paused as she reached the doorway and added, “No one else needs to know about this, Seven.”

Seven gave a silent nod of understanding. 

“No use getting anyone’s hopes up for nothing,” she said, and she walked out of the astrometrics lab and into the empty corridor, feeling the weight of her failure towards Ensign Kang all over again.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crew of the Hypereia buries their ill-fated gardener. A strange transmission from the nearby anomaly sets Dr. Haxle and Captain Solaad at odds.

CHAPTER 9

“Now, Oop’tu will be a part of that cycle forever. A part… of us all.” The captain bowed his head as a couple of his Faiacian deckhands started sprinkling maggot-infested fertilizer over the corpse of the ship’s ill-fated gardener. 

Haxle held his hand over his mouth in an effort to display respectful, dignified grief, but mainly to block the smell. He doubted Oop’tu had been lying in the bristlegrass long enough to start rotting, but it was hard to be sure when they held his service between a mound of fertilizer and the opening to the compost chute. 

Haxle took a step back as the deckhands continued their work, lest any stray clods of the stinking soil should land on his finely polished boots. Alixindrian leather was impossible to come by, this far from the Halo.

The gathering was small. The whole crew had wanted to attend, but Solaad had wisely restricted the service to department heads. The garden was still in complete disarray, the suspended walkway that spanned the deck was dangling by its last few support cables, and the unruly mob that ran this vessel would have trampled the bristlegrass to mud. To appease the mob, the captain had announced a larger service to be held in Neska’s lounge following Oop’tu’s… disposal.

Haxle studied the dour countenances gathered around the corpse; the world-weary Captain Solaad, the cool and confident first mate Rajak, the lovely but care-worn quartermaster Neska, the neurotic rudder operator Movek, and the emotional engineer, Agachi. They were four Faiacians, their blue-gray complexions calling to mind the towering storm clouds of the Pentos Delta back on Alixindry, and a Hald’pii with rust-red plumage and sepia down feathers. They were all at least a head shorter than Haxle was, even counting the disturbingly animated quills sprouting from the Faiacians’ scalps, and Agachi was shorter still. 

Haxle had long since grown accustomed to being surrounded by diminutive barbarians, but this funeral service was testing his cultural tolerance mightily.

There was no chaplain present to commend Oop’tu’s soul to Plutis’ Kingdom, nor his body to Neptis’ Deep. Instead, an unlearned Faiacian commended his body to the trash chute and disregarded his soul altogether. Haxle had recruited a chaplain on his expedition for just such an occurrence as this, and yet, no one had even consulted the man. Really, that may have been for the best, as no self-respecting servant of Plutis would sanction a ‘ceremony’ like this. 

Why the crazy gardener would have insisted on being dumped down the compost chute and rendered into so much maggot food, Haxle could hardly imagine. Why Solaad would take those wishes literally and actually follow through with them, he couldn’t fathom at all. Everyone on the ship would effectively be eating the gardener’s remains for the foreseeable future. It was an act of cannibalism, once removed. Had the bird been an Alixindrian, Haxle would have drawn his honor blade before allowing this obscene act to go forward. 

A shovelful of soil fell over the dead gardener’s face, and Haxle had had about as much as he could stomach. He turned around and stepped away from the ceremony, turning his eyes up to the transparent aluminum of the deckhead. The bright, full-spectrum lights of the garden turned the ceiling into a mirror, but if he squinted, he could just make out some of the brighter stars of the Halo.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and found Neska looking up at him, concern evident in her eyes. “You ok?” she said in a quiet voice.

Haxle suppressed a sneer. Why had she singled  _ him _ out of all people? He was hardly known to have a sensitive disposition. “I’m fine.”

She glanced at the service and back to him, then gestured towards the gathering with a nod. Haxle looked back and saw that the deckhands had finished sprinkling a fine layer of soil over the body and were wrapping it up in a blanket of biodegradable fabric. The others were gathering close on either side of the body, preparing to lift it out of the grass.

“Come on,” said Neska, and she walked back to the service. Haxle followed, reluctantly.

The Hald’pii did not weigh much. The dense mass of pectoral muscle and sinew supporting his expansive wings did not make up for his hollow bones and stubby legs. Haxle could have lifted the corpse easily on his own, like lifting a small child. Thankfully, with seven other crewmates present, Haxle hardly had to put a finger on the blanket-wrapped corpse. As the others stooped to lift it, he bent halfway down and put a hand under the body, maintaining just enough contact to express solidarity before the others bore the body to the mouth of the compost chute and tipped it through.

“The bones won’t decompose,” he muttered. It was a thoroughly uncouth comment, and he regretted it immediately. He couldn’t help himself, though. It bothered him to no end, the way the others took such a romantic view of this form of burial.

The others cast accusatory glances at him, and he felt compelled to defend himself.

“I’m just saying,” he said. “With food waste, we usually incinerate the hard tissues, or we grind them to pulp. His body won’t just turn magically into soil in there, you know.”

Neska took a deep, controlled breath. Her quills were bristling. She said, “The composter sifts its contents. Anything solid…”

Rajak put a comforting hand on her shoulder, and Neska stopped talking. She wiped at her eye with the back of her hand, and Haxle cringed. He was very aware that they’d all just handled a corpse, and he wouldn’t be touching  _ anything  _ until he’d had a chance to wash his hands.

“Now’s not the time, Doc,” said Rajak.

Haxle shrugged.  _ Sorry _ was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t find it in him to utter it. He decided simply to offer an olive branch. “Should I have the chaplain visit after the service?” he said. “At least to recite a cantrip for the passage of his soul?”

“Just stuff it with yer shekin’ chaplain!” Agachi screeched. She stood up as tall as her stumpy legs would let her, her head reared back on her flexible neck and her rust-red plumage puffed up, and she still only came up to Haxle’s waist. Regardless, she waddled up to him and unfurled her wings, each of which was longer than her whole body. She had nimble three-fingered hands at the central joint of each wing, and she could fold her wings out of the way to use those hands as readily as any other race in the Cluster, but at the moment, she didn’t seem particularly interested in using her hands. Agachi looked up at Haxle with rage in her round, green, forward-facing eyes. She splayed her long, dextrous talons, tensed her knees, and poised her wings for an attack. 

Anyone who’d seen a Hald’pii in a fight knew better than to underestimate the funny little bird people, but Haxle had enough confidence in the engineer’s restraint and his own ability with his honor blade not to worry too much.

“Don’t let him ruffle your feathers, Agachi,” said Solaad.

Haxle gave the captain a searching look. How was  _ he  _ to blame? “I’m not trying to incite anything,” he said. “I’m only here to pay my respects. Oop’tu was one of the more civilized members of your crew, in spite of his barbaric religion.”

Agachi wasn’t backing down, but she was studying him through narrowed eyes now, furrowing the long feathers that crested her forehead like extravagant eyebrows. “You just can’t help yerself, can ya?”

Haxle shrugged. “What would you like me to say? I respected the man too much to tell pretty lies about him. I can’t claim we were close friends, but I enjoyed his company.”  

She stared hard at him for another moment, then lowered her wings and took a step back. “I don’t know how ‘e ever put up with yer bluster.”

“Likewise,” said Haxle, and to his surprise, Agachi opened her foreshortened beak and began making a chortling, clucking sound that Haxle recognized as laughter.

“You got me there, ya preenin’ bastard.” Her humor dissolved as quickly as it had come upon her, and her whole being seemed to wither with sudden sorrow. Agachi turned around, took a few steps away from the group, then spread her wings again and leaped gracefully into the air, rising up into the rafters above the grow lights, where Oop’tu had made his nest.

Haxle watched her go, and he sighed. He glanced around, saw the others had dispersed from the disposal site into the chaotic wreck of the garden, engaging in personal conversations and solitary reflections, and he supposed the ceremony was more or less over.

He picked his way carefully around the collapsed catwalk and the uprooted  _ hok  _ fruit trees, back to the ladder up to the garden’s operations station and entry platform. The garden was about half a  _ flartag _ lower than the rest of deck 1, which meant the only way in and out of the garden was up and down a short ladder. 

Haxle was halfway up the ladder when the captain’s mobile chirped.

“Uh, Captain?” The nervous voice of the relief commander issued from the captain’s mobile computing and communications device as he drew it from his pouch. “Gosh, I’m  _ so _ , so sorry for interrupting, but… we just got hit by a comm system hack, I think? I mean, I’ve got so many unauthorized access reports on my screen, it’s ridiculous. And it started with a radio transmission from the… that thing we’re coming up on, whatever it is.”

Everyone in the garden traded alarmed looks.

“Has there been any answer to our hails, Polidem?” said Solaad.

There was a long beat in which the only sound coming from the captain’s mobile was an indistinct, unfamiliar voice in the background, and then Polidem came back on the line. “I’ll just pipe this down to you, sir. It just started. This is live.”

Then the ship intercom system suddenly crackled to life. “...wormhole lies a shopping experience unparalleled in the galaxy! Whether you’re in need of maintenance and resupply, relaxation and recreation, or specialized equipment and personnel, the Delurididug Deep Space Travel Network and Trade Hub has something for everyone, and all are welcome! Technology beyond your wildest dreams! Flexible financing! A fun, safe, and inclusive shopping experience!”

Dr. Haxle had heard enough. The advertisement went on, but he’d already mounted the ladder and dashed out of the garden, heading across the deck towards the command quarter. From the first word, “wormhole,” he’d been struck with the certainty that they’d made a discovery of epic proportions, and whether it was Argivian or extra-celestial, it hardly mattered. 

For close to two hundred turns, now, he and his expeditionary force had been paying for this bucket of bolts to carry them out to the farthest reaches of the Argus Cluster. The  _ Hypereia  _ would drop them off on some obscure planet that had scarcely been visited since the fall of Argivia, and they’d have a couple dozen turns to survey the planet, looking for signs of undiscovered Argivian artifacts. Meanwhile, the ship would scamper off and take a gig running freight or passengers between nearby star systems, and then they’d reunite and head off for the next prospect.

It was an expensive arrangement for Dr. Haxle, and so far, it hadn’t paid off at all like he’d expected. In his youth, the Argus Cluster had been rife with buried treasure. The periodicals and newsnets were always announcing some fantastic new discovery by brave adventurers whose feats had brought them renown throughout the cluster. When he first left home, he’d thrown himself into his studies without hesitation or reserve, spending ten years in classrooms, laboratories, and museums, intent on joining their hallowed ranks. 

When he’d finally set off on his own grand adventure, though, what he’d discovered was that every treasure map he followed ended in another hunter’s claim, and every clue in the history books led to another scholar’s discovery. The daring archeologists and explorers of the Argus Cluster had picked the bones of the lost Argivian Empire clean. In the last year on the  _ Hypereia _ , all he had to show for his investment was a chest full of the ubiquitous data chips that the Argivians had left behind on every world they’d ever visited. The little cards were used to store everything from currency to entertainments, but there wasn’t a single operational reader in the cluster that could decipher them. They were about as valuable as the Argivian polymers they were printed on. Which is to say they weren’t exactly worthless; capable chemists could convert the chemicals into materials as useful and varied as synthetic skin and photothermic sail fabric. Still, they represented only about two percent of Haxle’s investment capital and the depths of his folly.

Unwilling to admit that he’d staked his youth and his inheritance on a fool’s errand, he’d persisted, clinging to the guttering hope that just one significant find, one crucial discovery, would return his investment tenfold and prove his life’s work was not in vain.

And finally, here it was.

It was a short walk from the garden to the command deck. When Haxle stepped through the doorway, he beheld the most surreal advertisement he’d ever seen playing on the big screen. 

He got a brief glimpse of a peculiar tetrahedral structure in space surrounded by dozens of spaceships in a variety of bizarre configurations, plus a few glowing lights like the object the  _ Hypereia  _ was approaching. Then the scene cut abruptly to the interior of some sort of market. The floors lit up with glowing tiles, and the walls were pristine white. The ad cut between a number of shots of this place, crowded with a diverse mix of aliens unlike any Haxle had ever laid eyes on, bargaining with other aliens over unrecognizable goods of sale, bidding on other lifeforms held behind glass, eating together in a restaurant or tavern, while the narration carried on.

“Something for everyone! Fun for the whole family! Passage to distant stars! A safe and respectful environment, free of violence. Experience all that the Delurididug Trade Federation has to offer the galaxy, here at the Delurididug Deep Space Travel Network and Trade Hub!”

And the images of happy aliens engaging in a variety of activities, some familiar, some bizarre, continued while the speaker finished his pitch at a rapid clip. “All services subject to terms and conditions. Travel Network subject to closure with minimal notice. Available goods and services may vary. The Delurididug Deep Space Travel Network and Trade Hub is a subsidiary of the Delurididug Trade Federation and is subject to all pursuant laws and regulations. All transactions are final. The Delurididug Deep Space Travel Network and Trade Hub reserves the right to refuse service to anyone. For more information, the complete Terms of Service are made available to all upon admittance to the Travel Network, or on request.”

“Tell me we were recording that,” said Captain Solaad. He strode past Haxle, who had frozen in his footsteps upon entering the command deck.

The Ilian relief commander’s head snapped from the screen back to his captain, his doe’s ears pricked up and his lilac eyes big as dish plates. “Um.”

Solaad sighed in frustration. “The moment we receive any other transmissions, start recording straight away! Is that clear, everyone?”

“Y-yes sir!” said Relief Commander Polidem.

Captain Solaad stood above the relief commander, who was still sitting in the captain’s seat. The young Ilian stared up at him in confusion for a moment before scrambling to get out of the captain’s chair. “Sorry, Captain, I was sorta just overwhelmed, I mean…”

“It’s fine, Polidem. Just get back to your station.”

Polidem went to a computer station and sat himself down, taking a long, deep breath.

“Call them,” said Haxle. “Request their ‘Terms of Service.’”

Solaad gave him a reproachful glare. “Doc, is this  _ your  _ chair?”

Haxle sighed, not feeling like engaging in petty squabbles with the captain. He just gestured to the screen instead.

Solaad turned his attention to Rajak, who was getting settled at the operations station.

“Get ready to open a video channel,” he said. “They’ve clearly figured out our computer protocols, so they shouldn’t have any problem deciphering it. Maybe if they answer, we’ll even get a look at whoever’s in there.”

He looked around at the others gathered in the room. “The rest of you, keep quiet while I’m on the line!” His gaze zeroed in on Dr. Haxle. “And you. Don’t you have someplace else to be?”

Haxle shook his head. “We may well be looking at the archeological find of the century. I am exactly where I need to be.”

Solaad’s eyes narrowed, and a couple of his quills twitched with repressed tension. “This ship comes first, Doctor. I don’t need you getting in my way.”

“I need this ship repaired as much as you do, Captain. I won’t do anything to jeopardize that. Just remember, any artifacts of scientific significance are mine to claim. That’s plain in our contract.”

“I don’t get the impression that we’re approaching one of your crypts or ruins, Doc. Seems to me, this place is already claimed by these… Delidibug.”

Haxle sniffed. He couldn’t say why, exactly, but he doubted it. “We’ll see.”

Solaad shook his head and turned his attention back to Rajak. “Call them.”

“Aye aye,” said Rajak.

Solaad turned back to the big screen and took a moment to adjust his jacket and polish one of his quills with his shirtsleeve while the screen showed the standby glyph.

After a moment, the glyph was replaced with a static, alien-looking emblem.

“You’re speaking to the automated customer service computer at the Delurididug Trade Hub. How can I direct your inquiry?” The voice sounded natural, cultured, and softly feminine. Not at all how alien computers generally rendered the Faiacian language.

Solaad stared at the emblem on the screen for a moment in annoyance. Clearly, it wasn’t the reception he’d been expecting. “I’m Captain Solaad of the  _ Hypereia _ , sailing under the flag of the Faiacian Free Commerce Association. Is there someone I can talk to about your… Trade Hub?”

“I can provide you with any publicly available information you might require. What would you like to know?”

Solaad sighed and scratched his quillroots absentmindedly. “How do I go about… getting there?”

Haxle rolled his eyes.

“Our scans indicate your ship can safely pass through the Travel Network, provided your tachyon sails remain closed. Simply direct your vessel directly at the center of the aperture from any angle, and you will pass into the ‘Hub Space’ surrounding the Trade Hub. The passage should be safe; however, it’s recommended you deploy standard safety features to prevent damage or injury on your vessel in the event of a pilot error.”

“Where did you come from?” said Solaad.

“What, you mean me, personally, or the Trade Hub?” There was a trace of congenial humor in the alien computer’s voice. “Or do you refer to the Travel Network access point? Or the Delurididug civilization in general? That’s a pretty vague question.”

Solaad seemed increasingly confused. “Aren’t you a computer?”

“I am, yes,” it said with a polite laugh, “but try not to hold that against me, please. I take it your people aren’t familiar with artificial intelligence?”

“Not… on your level, ma’am,” said Solaad. 

Haxle sighed in frustration. “It’s a sheking user interface, Captain,” he grumbled, “There’s no need to make polite conversation.”

Solaad signaled Rajak to cut audio, and he turned back to Haxle. “What did I say about keeping quiet?” he shouted. “We have no sheking idea  _ what _ we’re dealing with, and I don’t need you offending a computer which, for all we know, might be smarter than all of us combined! Now get the shek off my command deck, or else take a seat and don’t utter another word! Is that clear, Dr. Haxle?”

Haxle was taken aback. For all the acrimony and bickering he’d exchanged with the captain, he’d never managed to elicit this level of vitriol before. He opened his mouth to reply, but the captain cut him off with a gesture, and then he turned back to Rajak. “Restore audio,” he said.

Haxle decided he’d better sit down and stay quiet for now, no matter how the captain’s inept handling of this situation rankled him.

“Ma’am, am I to understand that the object my ship is currently approaching is, in fact, a… ‘worm hole’ to a distant region of space?”

“Well, you’re half right,” said the computer. “It can be described as a wormhole; however, the region of space it accesses can’t really be described in terms of distance. It exists beneath the fabric of space, and it can connect to vastly distant points of normal space simultaneously.”

Solaad let out a low whistle. “And the Deluribidug live there?”

“Currently, no Delurididug actually live anywhere in Hub Space. The region contains a single structure, the Delurididug Trade Hub. The Delurididug hail from a region of space about fifty thousand light-years from you.”

Solaad nodded. “So you  _ are _ from the Outer Void,” he said.

“I find that a very curious description for the wider galaxy surrounding the Argus Cluster, but yes.”

“What kinds of technology do you have?” he asked.

“It would take me quite a while to list all of the available technological products and services available in the Trade Hub. Would you like me to send you an inventory?”

Solaad nodded. “Yes, please. Tell me, though… do you possess faster-than-light engines?”

“Warp assemblies, transwarp coils, slipstream drives, subspace transporters, interdimensional rift manifolds, and soliton wave generators are generally available for manufacture. However, at present, logistical considerations may make such services untenable.”

Haxle understood precisely one word in that list: ‘soliton.’ As in, the ultimate Argivian innovation, the Gravitational Soliton Wave Transducers which brought about the Cataclysm, ending the Argivian civilization overnight and incurring the wrath of Neptis in the form of the tachyon winds.

It seemed to go clear over Solaad’s head, however. “What do you mean?” said Solaad, “What logistical considerations?”

“The Delurididug Trade Hub is currently suffering a staff shortage owing to a protracted period of Travel Network maintenance. Additionally, the ongoing maintenance cycle limits the duration of Travel Network access points to a few eight-turns, which is insufficient time to modify your vessel with a working faster-than-light device at present staffing levels.”

Solaad looked concerned. “My vessel is in need of a number of repairs. If we send you a list, can you tell me in advance whether there will be time enough to complete them, or if we can buy the supplies to do them ourselves?” Solaad cleared his throat. “Cost… might also be a point of concern.”

“To negotiate repairs, I’ll need to refer you to our customer liaison. He’s much smarter than I am.”

Solaad nodded. “Please, put him on the line.”

“I’m afraid he’s occupied at the moment. He should be back soon, though, and in the meantime, I encourage you to come aboard and see all that the Delurididug Trade Hub has to offer! Admittance is free, so long as you abide by all relevant terms and conditions.”

Captain Solaad was quiet for a long moment, mulling over the alien computer’s offer. “We’ll consider it, thank you.”

“Terms of Service!” Dr. Haxle blurted out, and Captain Solaad glared daggers at him, the sharp quills over his temples flexing forwards as if to make his expression a literal threat. 

Reluctantly, he turned his attention back to the screen. “Before we sign off, could you transmit those terms and conditions you mentioned, please? We wouldn’t want to violate any by mistake.”

“Certainly! I’m sending it now. Is there anything else I can do for you at this time?”

“No thanks,” said Solaad, “but I’ll be sure to call you back if anything comes to mind.”

“All right, then,” said the computer, “Have a good turn!”

“Yeah, you too,” said Solaad, and he signaled Rajak, who ended the transmission.

“We’ve received a couple data transmissions, Captain,” said Rajak. “Looks like the Trade Hub’s service list and the Terms.”

Solaad didn’t respond, but sat quietly for a moment, slowly shaking his head. Then he started talking, staring directly ahead, as if he were just thinking out loud. “I just had an intelligent conversation with a computer that could hack our whole computer network in just a few ticks, in spite of probably never encountering our computer systems before, and through a narrow-bandwidth comm line, no less. It even knew our language. How? I don’t know. Probably just by studying the files on our computer.”

Then the captain whipped his head around to face Dr. Haxle. “And  _ you  _ thought it was a good idea to be  _ rude _ to it?”

“Not rude, Solaad. Direct. However advanced it might be, it’s still just a computer.”

“What the hell do you know, Doctor? Is it Argivian?”

Haxle was quiet for a moment, considering.

Solaad stared at him expectantly. “Well, is it?”

Haxle shook his head. “No, I don’t see how it possibly could be.”

“Then you don’t know any better than the rest of us! If they could program a computer to have a natural conversation, they might have programmed it to lie, cheat, or punish rude customers! If we go over there, we’ll be putting our trust in an alien civilization we know nothing about, except that they have technology that defies the imagination.”

“Yes, but if we don’t take this chance, we’ll simply starve to death, stranded in deep space,” said Dr. Haxle.

Captain Solaad shook his head. “We’ve been in rough shape before. Agachi and Movek will patch us up well enough to limp into port. They’ve always come through in the past.”

Haxle looked around the command deck, hoping for support. Rajak looked uncomfortable, probably not liking either option. None of the other department heads had come to the command deck after the funeral, and the other deckhands had their eyes glued to their consoles.

“Well, do what you want, then,” said Haxle. “I’ll be leading an expedition through the wormhole in my orbital shuttle.”

“Do you expect us to wait for you?” said Solaad.

“You’re looking at at least three eight-turns to finish repairs-- _if_ you can do the job at all. By the time you’re ready to set sail again, we’ll have finished our expedition with time to spare. We’ll double thrust to catch up if we have to, although you’ll probably still be limping along at a quarter thrust, so I doubt it’ll even be necessary.”

Solaad nodded. “Well, while you’re there, how about picking up a few spare sail bearings and servo motors for the rudder?”

“I’ll be sure to do that, Solaad, and I’ll make a handsome profit selling them to you.”

Solaad looked at him through narrowed eyes. “I’m sure we’ll come to an equitable arrangement. But, say you get there and find the place teeming with alien customers, just like in the commercial.”

Dr. Haxle shook his head. “It won’t be. You heard the computer. The Travel Network is mostly down. They have a ‘staff shortage.’ There aren’t even any Delurididug living in there, or a salesperson to sell us parts. It’s just a relic with a remarkably well-preserved computer, that’s all.”

“Maybe,” said Solaad, “But what if that computer has security features that can’t be outsmarted or breached? What if all you can do is barter with it? We both know you’re broke, it’s not likely they’ll accept our currencies anyways, and you don’t have access to ship’s stores.”

“I doubt it will come to bartering. But if it did, maybe they’ll buy my Argivian data chips? Hell, if they could hack our computers, maybe they can actually read the sheking things. They might actually be worth something over there.”

Solaad studied Dr. Haxle for a long moment, but his thoughts had turned inward. “Tell you what,” he said, “We’ll come alongside the wormhole, and we’ll wait for you while you’re in there. You report back if it’s safe and they can fix our ship, and then I’ll consider coming through.”

Dr. Haxle nodded. “Ok. But I don’t want there to be any question about this discovery. It’s mine. Anything I find in there is mine. And if you want me to pick up parts for your ship, you’ll pay for them, plus hazard.”

Solaad sneered. “The amount of money you owe me, doc…”

Haxle glanced around, embarrassed to have his debts declared in front of Solaad’s crew, but unwilling to let it show. “Well, I won’t owe you anything anymore,” he said.

Solaad shrugged. “Fine. If you can get your hands on what we need, without the ship having to come in there and pay the station for it ourselves, then I’ll grant you the parts’ fair market value in debt relief. If you ask me, though, I’d say that’s a hell of an if.”

“Very well,” said Dr. Haxle, and he had to repress a wolfish grin. “We’ve got a deal.”

“Just your own men, though,” said Solaad.

“And me.” Neska’s voice came from the doorway behind Haxle. He swiveled in his chair to face her.

“ _ You _ want to come on my expedition?” Dr. Haxle said in surprise. “Why?”

“So you don’t get fleeced. You may be the archeologist, but  _ I’m _ the one who handles vendors and supplies on this ship, remember, Captain? And I smell a racket.”

“I smell a lot worse than that,” said Solaad. “The place could easily be a deathtrap, Neska, luring in stranded travelers, like the myth of the Immortal Emporium. Why do you think I’m letting  _ him _ go first?”

Neska shook her head. “Pirates don’t cram their ad copy with fine print, Captain. These are more civilized thieves, I think. And you need someone looking out for the ship’s interests over there.

Dr. Haxle rolled his eyes. “Of  _ course  _ I’ll look out for the ship’s interests,” he said. “I still need to ride home in it!”

“Not if you find yourself some fancy Void ship in there with magic engines that somehow let you fly a thousand times the speed of light outside of a tachyon stream,” said Neska.

Haxle snorted. “Give me  _ some  _ credit. I’d send help once I got back to civilization.”

Solaad looked unhappy, but he made up his mind. “Alright, Neska. You can go.”

“Hang on, now, Captain,” said Rajak.

Solaad regarded his first mate. “You want to go, too?”

Rajak looked from Neska to Solaad to Haxle, and he said, “Yeah, I expect that might be a good idea.”

Haxle tasted something sour. A moment ago, thanks to Solaad’s cowardly disposition, he’d been poised to keep this discovery entirely to himself. Suddenly, it seemed he’d have Solaad’s number one lackey to contend with. “Captain Solaad, if this is to be my mission…” he said.

“You’re right, Doc,” said Solaad, “I changed my mind. It’ll be a joint venture. Rajak and Neska will assemble a few good men to follow your expedition in the other transortibal. If it’s a shopping trip, Neska will handle acquisitions. If it’s a scavenging operation, you’ll get dibs on whatever we don’t need to fix up the ship. Rajak will step in to stop you doing anything monumentally stupid in the sight of an unfathomably powerful alien technology.

Dr. Haxle shook his head. “Solaad, you’re in charge on this ship, but  _ I’m  _ in charge of my expeditions. Your attempts to babysit me will be neither necessary nor effective. If you’re worried I’ll do something stupid, keep your people on the ship.”

Solaad heaved a tired sigh, braced his hands on his armrests, and pushed himself to his feet.

“I’m trying to be patient, Doc. I’m trying to respect our deal. But you’re testing my patience, now. This isn’t just your ‘expedition,’ this is a vital resupply mission. Now, if you don’t want me to lock you up with the rest of your burdensome party of scavengers while we see to this operation ourselves, you’ll swallow your greed for a moment and welcome our help. Do we understand each other?”

Dr. Haxle studied the captain’s weary expression. It didn’t seem like Solaad was trying to scare him or intimidate him. It seemed like the captain was simply ready to throw out their contract and lock him up if he didn’t agree to the man’s terms. “You’ll hear from my lawyers about this,” he warned.

Solaad nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t doubt it.”

Dr. Haxle weighed the options in front of him. He had enough microwave disruptors and ballistic firearms to arm every member of his party, and he’d seen to it personally that everyone was at least minimally competent with their use. Here on the ship, they didn’t stand much of a chance at a successful mutiny, but if Rajak and his men got in his way in the Trade Hub, he liked their odds much better. It would simply depend on what they found once they arrived, whether it would be worth the risk or not.

“Fine,” said Dr. Haxle. “But don’t expect me to run around at Rajak’s beck and call. This is still my expedition.”

Solaad stared hard at him for a long moment, skepticism plain on his face. Then he sighed and shook his head. “This isn’t going to work out. Lock the docking clamps on the transorbitals, Rajak. We’re moving on.”

Dr. Haxle’s eyebrow shot up. “You think you can bluff me? You need what that station’s offering more than I do.”

Solaad laughed. “I don’t think so. I fully expect my people will have the sails back up in due time. We’ll make port, eventually, at which time, you and I will settle accounts, and your people will be free to go your own way.”

The captain turned around and returned to his chair with a relieved sigh. “Wow, that’s a weight off my back. I don’t know what I was thinking, even humoring the idea.”

Haxle’s hands were trembling. He was sure his copper skin was flushing red. He looked to Neska, whose pained expression gave him some hope that he wasn’t alone.

“Talk to him,” he hissed. “Make him see.”

Neska stared at him solemnly and just shook her head.

Haxle could feel his temperature rising. The course, dark-gray hackles on his neck were bristling, and his lip was curling up, showing his pronounced canines in an atavistic threat display that he couldn’t contain. “What do you want from me!” he roared at the seated captain. He took three long strides up the ramp to the captain’s chair, his five-fingered hands balled into fists. “You want me to follow your lackey around on a leash? You want me to stand by while he blunders through a delicate excavation, looking for crude ball bearings and primitive electric components in the relic of a civilization that evolved beyond such things millennia before its decline? You honestly believe he’ll know better than I do, how to handle a place like this?”

Solaad looked up at Haxle, unimpressed by his posturing. In fact, the son of a she- _ vulf _ looked smug at having gotten a rise out of him.

Solaad tilted his head to the side, considering his words. “Yeah, Doc. I honestly do. But I’ll tell you what. If you’re still intent on visiting the Travel Hub…”

“It’s Trade Hub, or Travel Network, not--”

“Whatever. If you’re still intent on going, then you can gather four of your most trusted men and take your transorbital through the wormhole. No more than four, understand?”

Haxle nodded, grudgingly. He decided if he ever got the chance to kill Solaad without disastrous repercussions, he wouldn’t hesitate. 

“All right, then. Once you’re through, if you get through safely, you can signal back an all clear, and my men will follow you through in our own transorbital. Then, you and Rajak will confer on a joint operation. Rajak will defer to your expertise, so long as you don’t endanger my men by antagonizing the station or doing anything similarly foolish.”

Haxle swallowed. “It’s still my discovery,” he said.

Solaad gave him a patronizing look. “Sure, Doc. This previously unimagined place that we just happened to stumble upon, completely by chance, in  _ my  _ ship no less, is still somehow your discovery. You’ll get your name printed in your precious journals. You’ll be famous. Happy?”

“I still claim whatever we find in there. If it’s salvage--”

“Yes, yes, we’ve been over all that. None of that has changed.”

“I don’t want your man getting in the way of my excavations,” he said.

“If you don’t do anything stupid, he won’t,” said Solaad. “You’ve got my word on that. I’m not trying to break our contract, Haxle. You sure as hell aren’t making it easy, though.”

Dr. Haxle sighed. “If I’m limited to four men, I might need your people’s help.”

“That’s what they’re there for,” said Solaad. “That’s what a joint venture means.”

Haxle nodded. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll get my men together.” He turned around and headed for the door.

“Oh, and Doctor,” said Solaad, and Haxle looked back expectantly. “I’m fine letting you have the honor of being the first through the wormhole, but if you don’t signal back quickly, I  _ will _ leave you here.”

Dr. Haxle scoffed. The “honor” of passing through first? The coward just wanted him to play the proverbial  _ chirik  _ bird in a coal mine. He turned back to the door without acknowledging the threat and retreated back to deck six, where his men were still licking their wounds after the storm that had stranded them in this place. 

A full-fledged expedition would have done wonders for their flagging spirits. After a long string of largely fruitless outings and missed paychecks, they certainly could have used the boost. Haxle wasn’t sure how long he could hold them together at this rate.

Maybe this expedition would pay off after all, though. As much as he would have liked to have thrown Solaad’s extortive arrangement back in his face, the fact was, Haxle simply couldn’t afford to turn it down. This really might have been his last, best chance, and nothing, not even Rajak’s meddling, was going to stand in his way.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Trade Hub comes online just in time to receive visitors, but first, Hux wants to know what Lucy's been up to while he's been offline. Meanwhile, the Hypereia prepares to send a team through the mysterious "access point," and Voyager approaches the boundary of the Argus Cluster.

CHAPTER 10

Hux’s projection loomed over his spritely systems maintenance unit. He had his holographic aspect present a relaxed, congenial manner while he studied her with several dozen high-fidelity sensors planted throughout her faux-beach habitat.

The augment Serial 14107, Designate: Lucy Kang fretted her fingers. The subtle flush of blood to her cheeks and the tendency of her gaze to break contact with Hux’s projection indicated acute embarrassment, possibly relating to the activation of the Travel Network. A closer examination of her microexpressions and an analysis of her brain waves showed no clear indicators of guile.

Hux was forced to accept, at least provisionally, that her blunder had been an honest mistake. He found it deeply troubling that the augment could have been prone to a lapse as severe as triggering the dormant Travel Network. Hux and the Trade Hub had gone through a great deal of trouble to secure the unit and invested several hundred gigahertz-hours into custom-tailoring a top-of-the-line software package for her. Hux had hoped that the investment would pay off in an augment that was more fit for the function of systems maintenance than any of the other augments already in inventory.

Worried that his investment may have been entirely in vain, Hux queried the Central Network Array and asked for a summary of its condition.

The CNA responded much faster than Hux had expected, and it delivered its conclusions with a degree of concision, certainty, and alacrity that Hux had not received from the Array in a very long time. He could guess how well it had improved before even accessing the data packet that the CNA gave him. 

In the eleven point four seconds since coming back online, the Array had registered a sixty percent improvement in overall computing power, unearthed whole sectors of data storage that it hadn’t even known it had lost, and rediscovered functional capacities that it forgot ever possessing. It was currently applying its renewed capacities to the repair of the Central Network Auditor, which, in turn, would be able to complete any lingering repairs that the augment hadn’t finished on the Array.

It had been over a millennium since Hux had seen the CNA this vital. All around the station, processes that had long gone dormant were coming to life again. Strategic and innovative cogitation centers in the computer core were waking up after centuries of slumber.

Hux had been blind to the true severity of the station’s condition, before. Given the dire circumstances it had truly been in, he was very fortunate to have procured a suitable augment at all. 

Hux chose to convey his satisfaction to the augment by employing a facial expression in his holographic aspect. He put on his trademark toothy grin and said, “You did good work, Lucy!”

The flush in her cheeks increased, and Lucy’s gaze dropped to the deck before she could force herself to meet Hux’s simulated eyes. “But the Travel Network,” she said. “I can’t believe I forgot to disconnect it from that node. So stupid.”

Such an error  _ was _ unlike her, but for all her augmentations, she was, after all, only an organic. Hux nodded, acknowledging her mistake, but retained his friendly bearing. The augment displayed the appropriate level of contrition; further emphasizing her failure would not improve her performance. “Fortunately, we have the necessary power reserves to sustain the Access Point as it runs its course,” he said.

“There’s no way to shut it down?” said Lucy, although her tone did not convey optimism.

Hux shook his head. “Collapsing the Access Point at this stage would cost more energy than containing it. Better to let it run its course. Besides…” Hux queried the Travel Network’s sensor array, and he tilted the head of his avatar to give the impression that he was listening to something far away.

“There’s already a ship approaching. A most unusual ship…” Hux paused as he processed more of the data coming in through the Travel Network. “Huh. The last time the Trade Hub had contact with this sector, there was a thriving, advanced civilization here, but now I can’t sense any artificial subspace emanations at all. Just a lot of unguided soliton waveforms and a swamp of tachyon radiation.”

Lucy looked curious. “No communications? No warp trails?”

“No…” said Hux. He realized his subroutine for generating idle conversation had led him on a tangent, and he quickly refocused on what he needed to do next. “The vessel is still several hours out, and I have a lot to get done before we’re presentable for visitors.”

“Right,” said Lucy. “What can I do to help?”

“‘Help?’” Hux echoed. He sized up the augment, who seemed genuinely eager to assist. “Public relations aren’t a part of your mandate.”

Lucy blinked. “I know,” she said. Her mood was suddenly subdued, and Hux could see her brain activity heightening as she cast about for a good reason she should be allowed to help greet visitors. “But…”

Hux considered the augment’s possible motives for wanting contact with outsiders. It was conceivable that she was hoping to escape, although her revised executive initiation engram should have precluded that possibility. It was also possible that she was acting out of loneliness.

“Whatever happened to your assistant, Lucy?” said Hux.

Lucy stared blankly at him for a moment before she realized who he was talking about. “Oh, her?” She rolled her eyes. “She’s half the reason we’re in this mess. She crashed while we were trying to stop the Travel Network reboot. I decompiled her.”

“That’s a bit drastic, don’t you think? Or do you think she might have done it on purpose?” He phrased his question with a purely curious tone, but Hux was quickly reviewing the scant records available from the CNA’s downtime to corroborate her story.

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” said Lucy. “She was helpful to have while we were working on the Array, but I could tell her heart was never really in it.”

“Why do you think she would have done such a thing?” The records taken by the Auditor were consistent with Lucy’s story so far. He began a passive survey of the augment’s implants, studying her software for signs of tampering without alerting her with direct queries.

Lucy shrugged. “Maybe she was hoping I’d decide to leave?” She met Hux’s gaze. “You know I wouldn’t even consider that, though.”

Her pupil dilation remained constant. The muscle tension around her eyes softened as she spoke, and her postural expression remained relaxed. There was no hint of deception, and Hux found no obvious signs that her software was anything but what it should have been.

Hux nodded. “I believe you. Still, let me just make sure.”

Lucy shrugged. “Of course, Hux.”

_ Unit: Lucy Kang> root:> query access :: executive initiation/ _

_ Access granted. _

_ Unit: Lucy Kang> executive initiation:> changelog :: report/ _

Lucy’s implant detailed a string of edits and overrides to her executive initiation, beginning with her initial augmentation, then her interrogation at the tribunal for Commander Chakotay, and then her upgrade to systems maintenance. The log showed an attempt to back up an unedited form of the engram in the moments before the last edit, which Hux had canceled, and from then forward, the engram showed no further signs of tampering.

Hux nodded in satisfaction. All was as it should be. “At any rate, it’s possible that you  _ will _ be able to help with the arriving visitors.”

Lucy smiled. “Anything.”

“Well, there are a variety of services we offer which might best be rendered by a flesh-and-blood asset,” said Hux. “And it’s possible the visitors may be interested in procuring an Aug-Tech augment for themselves,” said Hux.

Lucy’s gaze turned serious. “You’d consider selling me?”

Hux considered that notion profoundly misplaced, warranting the activation of one of his humor subroutines. He snorted derisively. “I would never consider  _ selling  _ Aug-Tech to primitives like these, nor even to a civilization like your Federation. I would, however, consider  _ licensing _ an augment, if they’re able to offer sufficient value in trade.”

Lucy shook her head. “License? Sell? What’s the difference?”

“If I sold you a spaceship, wouldn’t you be entitled to strip it for parts and reverse-engineer its components?”

“Ah,” said Lucy, understanding. Then her brow furrowed, and her tone went sour. “So you’d let them have me, but with restrictions on how they could use me.”

“Essentially,” said Hux. “But let’s get something straight, Lucy. I do not intend on licensing you out to  _ anyone _ . You still have too much work to do here, and I seriously doubt they can afford you. Still, you might prove helpful by demoing the features of your product line.”

Lucy nodded her understanding, but her spirits were low. A survey of her airborne cortisol excretions and brain activity confirmed that her perceptual filters were operating within normal parameters; she was not acutely melancholic. However, her higher neurological functions were markedly depressed. Hux understood that the prospect of reassigning custodianship could be distressing for an augment, and he decided to say something to lift her spirits.

“Besides, I’d miss you.”

Lucy offered a weak smile, but Hux could not be so easily fooled. Cheering up the augment was a relatively low priority at this moment, though, so he decided to let it go.

“At any rate,” said Hux, “if you’re going to be greeting guests, then we need to get your interpersonal protocols up to snuff.”

Lucy thought for a moment. “You mean you’re going to do that thing you mentioned before, where my personality changes depending on who I’m talking to?” There was still an edge of displeasure to her tone, but she sounded utterly resigned to her fate. Hux ran a few thousand conversational permutations in a split second to find the best way of making this process more palatable to the augment.

“Not… exactly. Or, not like you’re probably imagining, but essentially… yes,” he said. “Don’t worry, Lucy. Most augments find it rather fun.”

The tension gathering around Lucy’s eyes indicated building anger. Then her gaze met Hux’s carefully composed expression of sympathy, and instead of cooling as he’d anticipated, the anger actually intensified. Her face reddened subtly, her pupils dilated, her fists clenched, and she bit down on her lip. If not for the enhanced tissues of her epidermis, she would have drawn blood. Her brain waves intensified as well, indicative of a heightened state of arousal consistent with intense rage.

Then she averted her gaze, and just as quickly as the rage had appeared, it vanished. Lucy met his gaze again, and the lingering anger in her expression quickly passed. “What--” she started talking, and her voice didn’t come. She cleared her throat. “Whatever you say, boss,” said Lucy.

Hux studied her silently for another moment, and he nodded. “I understand you don’t like the idea,” he said. “But it’s a standard feature for your model.”

“Uh huh.” Lucy nodded impatiently and looked away, not wanting to hear his explanation. She clearly needed a reminder, though.

“You are a multi-purpose augment. You’re not just meant for poking around bioneural circuitry all day.”

“I know, I know,” said Lucy.

“You’re designed to integrate smoothly into any teamwork dynamic in order to serve effectively in diverse roles, no matter the cultural and social context. That takes a certain… flexibility.”

“It’s fine, Hux, I get it,” she said, although her body language plainly conveyed that her reassurances were only meant to make him stop talking.

“You are  _ also _ an intelligence-gathering and influence-projecting tool,” said Hux, “for which, interpersonal adaptability is essential.”

That brought Lucy up short. “I’m sorry?”

“You’ll understand better when I upgrade your program,” said Hux. “Are you ready?”

Lucy rolled her eyes, and her fleeting microexpressions indicated a deeper resentment, but she nodded. “Not like you’d care if I weren’t.”

“Here, then,” said Hux. 

Lucy watched him passively, almost bored, while he transmitted the upgrade package to her implant and it began unpacking itself in her head, her new protocols finding their home in her neocortex.

When her implants reported the process complete, he looked at her expectantly. Lucy met his gaze, apparently unsure what he expected from her. She flashed an uncertain smile and a thumbs up, then broke eye contact, turned towards the false horizon, and rested her weight on the railing of her cabana, looking out over the waves.

Hux just watched her for a second, at a loss. The augment was clearly bothered, and that was to be expected. But her display of intense anger moments ago had been an aberration from her established personality parameters. For that matter, so was the way she’d clamped down on that emotional response, apparently repressing the emotion through sheer force of discipline. In the past, Lucy had never hesitated to express her emotions. Unlike her life in Starfleet, she understood that decorum served no real function in their working relationship.

Hux would have to download and analyze her recent memories and the full output of her central nervous system to get to the root of it, but probably, the anomalous emotion had resulted from lingering cognitive dissonance over her Aug-Tech conversion. It followed, then, that she repressed the anger because she couldn’t make sense of it within the cognitive boundaries of her mandate. It wasn’t an uncommon or overly worrisome condition, and it was treatable, if necessary. Generally, though, these sorts of incompatibilities tended to resolve themselves over time, and Hux had more pressing matters to occupy his processing power. 

“Great. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lot of preparations to make.”

Hux dispelled his holographic image, but he kept his sensors trained on Lucy for a little longer. She heaved a sigh, then stepped back from the railing and turned around. For a moment, she seemed unsure of herself. She patted down her gray jumpsuit as if she were looking for something in her pockets, looked around her simulated beach house, then walked over to her desk console and started calling up performance logs from the CNA to review. She was getting back to work already?

Hux allowed himself a moment of pride and satisfaction. Whatever organic foibles she may have possessed, he had to admit she was turning out to be a fine asset for the Trade Hub. Even after everything he’d put her through, she remained as committed as ever to exceeding the terms of her mandate. He supposed he had her Starfleet training to thank for that level of dedication.

Hux turned his attention away from the augment and focused on preparing for the arrival of the approaching ship. First impressions were key.

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

“Everything ready to go?” said Rajak. He stepped out of the central lift into the crowded confines of the docking hub, a bolus-shaped room at the base of the  _ Hypereia’s _ towering deflector cone. Around the perimeter, four doorways opened out to four umbilical docking ports, only two of which were occupied by ships (the  _ Hypereia’s _ transorbital shuttlecraft and Dr. Haxle’s private skiff). The vessels were just visible through the narrow, deep-set windows that girded the room, lit in stark relief by wan, fluorescent work lights, nestled under the protective awnings of the deflector cone.

Already gathered in the small docking hub were Dr. Haxle and his team: two other Alixindrians with their skin like burnished copper, an Hoborian with glistening yellow scales and golden, lamp-like eyes, and a willowy, porcelain-pale Ilian woman, the youthful spots on her cheeks unfaded. Their crew was gathered in quiet conversation around the entrance of their shuttle. On the other side of the room, two deckhands carried one end each of a large crate, making slow and steady progress into the umbilical to the second shuttle.

“ _ We’ve  _ been ready for six spanns already, Rajak,” said Haxle. “Your people are certainly taking their time, though.”

Rajak stifled a sigh. He’d expected preparations to be finished by the time he’d arrived. For his part, he was traveling light, carrying just his mobile, his sidearm, and his multitool. “Where’s Neska?”

Haxle just pointed towards the shuttle that the deckhands were loading, then turned to his colleagues and resumed his conversation.

Rajak followed his deckhands on their slow march through the umbilical and into the shuttle, cursing the confined space that didn’t leave him enough room to get around them. Once they’d reached the shuttle’s cargo hold, the men stepped aside, and Rajak clapped the first one on the shoulder, wordlessly conveying his camaraderie with the mossy-furred Refflik who’d signed on at the last port, and whose name Rajak didn’t know how to pronounce. The other was a young Faiacian named Greg, who’d joined the crew fifty or sixty turns ago, and who the captain usually mistakenly called either “Gleg” or “Kleck.”

In the cargo hold, crates, trunks, and boxes were stacked high on either side of the narrow walkway, and Neska stood at the fore, in front of the round portal into the crew compartment, directing the six deckhands who were busy tying down the equipment so it wouldn’t shift or fly around when thrust became a variable rather than a constant.

“What is all this?” said Rajak.

Neska smiled. “So glad you asked,” she said. “To the port, we have  _ tega _ , spirits, and whatever trinkets and trifles I could convince crewmembers to part with, plus some heavy equipment to help with excavations. To starboard, we have empty storage.”

Rajak looked from one tower of cargo to the other, then back at Neska. “You really think this outing might turn out to be a routine resupply?”

Neska scoffed. “Hardly routine. But if it’s  _ not  _ the wreck that Dr. Haxle is expecting, then we’d better come prepared to do some haggling.”

“And you think they’ll be interested in our… knick-knacks?”

She shrugged. “Well, I’ve got no idea. But I doubt they’ll want our money, although I’m bringing most of the petty cash, just in case. And I  _ seriously _ doubt they’ll want our surplus parts, except maybe for scrap metal, and there’s not much else on  _ Hypereia  _ that we can spare, so… yeah. Trinkets. Spirits.  _ Tega. _ I’m hoping they’ll have an interest in our ‘exotic’ culture that will make up for the technology gap.”

Rajak nodded thoughtfully. “How much  _ tega _ and spirits are we bringing?”

“Well… all of it,” said Neska.

Rajak winced. “Oh, Neska, no…”

“Hey,” said Neska, “We can live without booze and smokes. We  _ can’t _ live without food, water, and air. You do the math.”

“Does the captain know?” said Rajak.

“I don’t know,” said Neska, then she called to the compartment at large, “Hey! Did anyone remember to tell the captain what all we’re taking with us?” Her voice carried a trace of menace that made her question seem more like a threat.

The others exchanged wary glances and shook their heads.

Except for Greg. “Not me!” said Greg. “I can call him on my mobile, if you’d like.” He took his mobile out of his pocket and held it up innocently.

Neska favored him with a sweet smile. “No thanks, Kleck,” she said. “You can just put that away. Actually, turn it off, ok?”

Greg looked confused. “Why would I…”

Neska’s expression went suddenly venomous, and Greg paused in the middle of his sentence.

She turned back to Rajak. “Anyway, if we can get the parts we need, it’ll be worth it. We’ll be on Rebos in less than an eight-turn, and the captain can poison himself with all the  _ tega  _ he--”

“I’ll just put it in shuttle mode… you know… so it doesn’t interfere with navigation,” said Greg. “I mean, not that it should matter, but safety first! I suppose, at the end of the--”

Neska sighed. “Ok, Kleck. Good talk.” She looked around the cargo hold. Rajak turned around and saw the safety webbing was securely strapped around the cargo.

“Are we set?” Rajak said to the room.

“Aye, sir,” the Refflik crewmember growled in a heavily accented approximation of the Faiacian language, and the others nodded confirmation.

“Alright, then, let’s start on the preflight checklist. Our treasure-hunting friends are in a hurry to get over there, but that doesn’t mean  _ we _ have to rush. So take your time, people. Double-check everything, and we’ll head out when we’re good and sheking ready.”

“Safety first, that’s what I always say!” said Greg. “You know? I think at the end of the day--”

Rajak interrupted him by loudly clearing his throat, then turned to Neska and nodded towards the fore of the ship. The two of them headed through the portal, into the crew compartment. “To your stations, people!” Rajak said over his shoulder. 

“Where do we find these people?” he muttered, and Neska’s neutral demeanor cracked, her narrow mouth spreading in an infectious grin.

Rajak couldn’t repress his own lopsided smile as the two of them reached the cockpit and settled down in the high-backed pilot and copilot seats.

They strapped in and started running through their preflight checklists, then Rajak flipped on the comm. “ _ Reia Two  _ to _ the SS Idri,  _ y’all ready to rocket?”

“ _ Any time now, Rajak, _ ” came Dr. Haxle’s refined tones.

“ _ Reia Two  _ to  _ Hypereia,  _ all systems are nominal. We’re ready to launch whenever we’ve got the yellow light,” said Rajak.

“ _ At your leisure, Reia Two, _ ” said Captain Solaad, “ _ Stay safe in there, alright? _ ”

“Roger that,  _ Hypereia, _ ” said Rajak. “Ok,  _ Idri,  _ you copy that? _ ” _

“ _ Aye,  _ Reia Two _ , _ ” said Dr. Haxle. “ _ We’ll lead the way. _ ”

“And we’ll be right behind you, Doc,” said Rajak, and he toggled a couple switches over his head, signaling the umbilical to break away from the shuttle’s airlock and begin retracting clear of the vessel.

“ _ Godspeed, Rajak, Neska, _ ” said Captain Solaad. Rajak saw that the captain had dropped Haxle’s ship from the comm circuit. This was a private exchange. “ _ And if it comes down to the parts we need, or your lives? Come back with your lives. No heroics, and no grandstanding. Understood _ ?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” said Rajak.

“Of course, Captain,” said Neska.

“ _ Good. And watch out for Haxle. No telling what he’ll try if things don’t go his way.” _

“You don’t gotta tell me, Cap,” said Rajak. “And try not to worry. We’ll be back before you know it.”

“Neptis keep you,” said the captain, and he signed off.

Then, with a gut-wrenching lurch, Rajak disengaged the clamps that kept  _ Reia Two _ secure to the underside of  _ Hypereia’s  _ deflector cone, and the ship went into freefall. Rajak engaged the thrust the moment they were clear of the cone, and just like that, the direction of ‘up’ flipped ninety degrees, the thrust pushing them down into the backs of their seats. Through the dizzying transition, Rajak didn’t miss a beat. He deftly worked the throttle, steered the little ship clear of  _ Hypereia’s  _ looming sails and spindles, and took aim for the sparkling violet portal a few thousand flartags off  _ Hypereia’s  _ port bow, and beyond it, the unknown.

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

On the bridge of  _ Voyager _ , all eyes were glued to the viewscreen as  _ Voyager’s _ shuttlebay tractor beams slowly, carefully extruded the Po Lafimas sailrocket from her hold. The nose of the rocket cleared the bay with less than a meter to spare, at which time the starship’s external tractor beam took possession of the craft, steering it well clear of  _ Voyager’s  _ hull.

The rocket’s thrusters kicked on without warning, bathing  _ Voyager’s _ aftmost sections in a wash of radiation that the hull could safely absorb. The rocket, still in the hold of  _ Voyager’s _ tractor beam, went nowhere.

“Rude,” Tom commented from the conn.

“Cut the tractor,” said Captain Janeway.

Harry tapped a couple keys and cut the little ship loose to begin its slow crawl back into the Argus Cluster.

Chakotay consulted the little console screen built into his command chair. “The  _ Tusk of Neptis _ is heading for the boundary of the nearest tachyon current, nine hundred kilometers distant,” he said. “At their current acceleration, they should reach it in… eleven minutes.”

The bridge was quiet for a moment. Eleven minutes felt like an absurd wait, just to cross nine hundred kilometers of open space.

“Should we give them a push?” said Tom.

“We’d flatten them like pancakes,” said Harry.

“Maybe if we extended the warp bubble around them…”

“Have patience, Lieutenant,” said Captain Janeway. “This is the closest we’re ever going to come to this remarkable region of space. Every minute we sit here, we’re gathering invaluable data. You might as well enjoy the view.”

The view  _ was _ remarkable. Janeway couldn’t recall ever seeing a more densely populated field of stars, and the milky streaks that ran through the meridian of the cluster were just discernible as vast rings of stars and dust orbiting the twin black holes of the cluster. Above the meridian, near the upper reaches of the cluster, a ribbon of glittering stars trailed after a third black hole like cometary debris as it made its eccentric orbit around its siblings.

As the Po Lafimas ship finally came into range of the nearby tachyon current, its sails began unfolding and expanding. And expanding, and unfolding still more, spreading further and further out until the four sails dwarfed the little cigar-shaped fuselage like triangular kerchiefs pinned together on a sewing needle.

“The  _ Tusk of Neptis _ is putting on speed,” said Chakotay. “Approaching impulse now… Exceeding impulse…”

The viewscreen tracked the ship on its sudden leap forward.

“Captain, I have an unauthorized transport in progress!” said Harry.

Captain Janeway whirled around in surprise. “Block it!” she said.

Harry pinched his lips tight as he focused on working his console, but a moment later, he shook his head in resignation. “It’s too late. Someone just used the cargo bay transporter to beam over to the Po Lafimas ship.”

“Can you get them back?” said Janeway.

On the viewscreen, the image of the  _ Tusk of Neptis  _ was distorting, flattening and red-shifting as it reached relativistic speeds.

“They’re out of range already, sir,” said Ensign Kim.

The image of the ship vanished from the viewscreen with a flash of light reminiscent of a starship going to warp.

“They’ve exceeded light speed,” said Chakotay. “And their ship has no subspace footprint, making it nearly impossible to track at superluminal velocities.”

“Who was it, Ensign?” said Janeway.

Harry entered a command on his console. “There’s one missing comm signal on  _ Voyager, _ Captain. Petty Officer Owen Vance.”

Janeway felt a sinking sensation as this sudden turn of events fell into context.  _ He knew. _

She turned to Chakotay, who regarded her with a confusion that was soon tinged with suspicion as he read her face.

“Why would Vance do this?” he asked her. Janeway glanced to Tom at the conn and Harry at ops, and she saw the same wheels turning in both their heads.

“Can we follow them?” she asked Harry.

He looked down at his screen and shook his head. “No way, Captain. We’ll need to completely reconfigure our warp geometry before we could even attempt to brave those tachyons.”

“I could plot a parallel course,” said Tom. “But we’d have no way of reaching them until they came out of the current again.”

Janeway looked to Chakotay. He shook his head as well. “It’s too great a risk.”

Janeway rapped her fingers on her armrest in frustration. She knew he was right. Beyond this spot, the manifold dangers of the Argus Cluster quickly became impossible to avoid. 

She should have seen this turn coming. The security officer had been singularly obsessed, and he'd become increasingly isolated from his crewmates. Nothing Janeway had tried had been successful at bringing him back into the fold. 

How had he known? He must have found a way to covertly monitor the sensor telemetry from Astrometrics, or maybe the Doctor had let it slip.

Kathryn rose to her feet. “Chakotay, call together the senior staff.” She stared at the vast, forbidding star cluster laid out on the viewscreen, rife with hazards no human could hope to survive. “There’s a matter we need to discuss.”

~~ -o--o--o- ~~

Po Kheei let loose a deep, resonant bugle in celebration, stomping foot to foot in a tight circle and pumping his fists in the air in front of him. He punctuated his glee with a hop and a reverberating punch to the deck grating under his feet.

“Oy, am I grateful to be back on the open wind again!”

Po Haggin echoed his bugle with a feminine call of her own, starting low and pitching higher. “I was fearful they’d be keeping us forever on their boring voidship, just wandering around in the black like that, nowhere to go, nothing to do.” She shivered.

The two of them were lumbering around the ring-shaped dining deck, which wrapped around the central column of the ship. A mere tusk-length over their upstretched snouts, the grating of the next deck up reverberated with the heavy steps of their colleagues on the sleeping deck. Their shadows filtered through the honeycomb-like gaps in the deck and played over the low rises and split levels that served in the place of tables and chairs on the dining deck. It was a comforting reminder of the close presence of Kheei and Haggin’s crew-family.

“I’m gonna avail myself of some a’ those Hald’pii jerky strips,” said Kheei. With the reduction of thrust to proper space-faring levels, roughly half what  _ Voyager _ had imposed on them for the length of their captivity, his appetite had returned with a vengeance.

“Not too much, now,” Haggin warned him. “You know what Captain will say if she finds the stores lower’n what we budgeted.”

“I know, I know,” grumbled Kheei as he strode towards the pantry. “But I need the protein. Just one strip’ll do me wonders.”

Haggin turned around and followed him to the pantry doors. “In that case, I think I’ll have one, as well.”

Kheei threw open the pantry doors, and his lips retracted in shock at what he found. His tusks, mandibles, and inner lips flared wide with surprise.

A pinkish little-mouth was cowering in the pantry, wearing one of the off-putting, form-fitting black and gold outfits that signified the crew-family of  _ Voyager. _ The skinny, snoutless creature took one look at Kheei with its confusing binocular eyes and threw up its diminutive fists in a defensive posture.

Kheei looked from the alien in his pantry to Haggin, whose view of the pantry was blocked by the open door. Haggin looked alarmed at Kheei’s reaction, but Kheei’s surprise was quickly turning to delight.

“Oy,” he said to Haggin, “did you know we’d filched one of them little-mouths for the pantry?”

“Oh, did we now?” said Po Haggin, suddenly sharing his delight. She edged over to get a view into the pantry over Kheei’s shoulder. “I said we ought to, didn’t I? Weren’t I saying how mighty tender they looked?”

The hapless alien looked from Kheei to Haggin and back, the wheels turning in his funny little dome-shaped skull. “You’re joking… right?” said the alien. The way its tiny mouth somehow managed to produce the Lafimas language greatly amused Kheei.

Kheei and Haggin shared a look, and then they both broke out in breathy laughter. The little-mouth still looked tremendously concerned, but perhaps a bit less than it had a moment ago.

When their laughter died, Kheei grabbed the alien’s fuzzy head with one large fist and tugged him out of the pantry.

“Stop!” it gibbered. “Wait!”

It did something quick and clever with its little hands to slip free of Kheei’s much stronger grasp, and then it scrambled on its unnervingly agile limbs to put a table-height rise between himself and the two Po Lafimas.

“Shek this,” Kheei grumbled, and then he stretched his snout straight up and bellowed up through the decks, “Captain! We got a stowaway, we have!”

“I can be useful for you,” said the skinny alien. “I know things, I’ve got technical expertise--”

Kheei scoffed. “You aliens always underestimate us Po Lafimas. We got experts aplenty, and unlike  _ you _ , we’ve mastered the tachyon winds.”

“None better,” Haggin piped in.

“None better,” Kheei agreed.

A rattle of the ladder running up the central column announced the arrival of Captain and Po Smols, her second.

The moment Captain put her eye on the little alien, her snout broke out in a wide grin. “Welcome, little one!” she said, and she stepped off the latter and extended her hand for the alien to shake according to its own custom. The alien crept cautiously out from behind the table, and after just a moment’s hesitation, it took her much larger hand and shook it up and down.

“I’m Petty Officer Owen Vance,” said the alien. “Permission to come aboard?”

That elicited a round of guffaws from all those gathered, and the alien pulled its dainty little lips back from its prim little teeth in an imitation of a smile that was frankly adorable.

Captain replied with utmost courtesy and grace, “Tell me why you’re here, Petitoffiser, and if I’m satisfied your intent is not malicious, I won’t have you immediately killed.”

Kheei and Haggin shared a slightly disappointed glance, but they kept their mouths shut. If Captain wanted to keep the creature around for a bit, whether to satisfy a momentary pique of curiosity or for some long-term purpose, then that was her prerogative. 

As for the alien, its cute little smile faltered. Whatever its cause for sneaking on board the  _ Tusk of Neptis _ , it would be lucky to survive the next few spanns, let alone the thirty-two turn trip to their next destination.

TO BE 

CONTINUED

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AFTERWORD
> 
> What?? To be continued?
> 
> That’s right folks, it’s a cliffhanger. Sorry, but I can’t maintain a chapter a week forever. I’m still writing, though, so don’t worry! I like to take as much time as I need to churn out a rough draft, make sure I’ve got all the bones of my story in the right place, revise and rewrite as necessary, and then spend a week polishing up each chapter before publishing it. All of which is to say, give me some time, please. I’ve got a full-time job and sort of a social life, believe it or not. But I hope to start posting chapters from Episode 3 sometime this winter!
> 
> So, if you’ve managed to get this far, you probably didn’t hate it, right? Why not lend me some feedback? What characters do you like? What parts of the story do you find interesting? What bits of Star Trek lore or characterization am I sheking up? What are you interested in seeing more of? Post a comment! Not gonna lie, I crave the attention.
> 
> Also, even though this installment is a wrap, I'm probably going to post some extras at some point, not to mention a preview for the next book before I start posting chapters. So if you're curious or you'd like a heads-up when the next one's about to start rolling out, bookmark me! 
> 
> Ok, last thing, and I’ll let you go. I’m looking for recommendations. Firstly, I’m looking for good artists who are open for commissions. I’ve described some pretty elaborate places and things in this story that I worry are hard to visualize (spaceships, aliens, and the Argus Cluster, to name a few) and I’m not much of an artist. Have you commissioned an artist you liked, or are you such an artist? PM me the deets! It would be nice to have a cover for the third book that’s not made from public domain images and photoshop. And secondly, I’m thirsty for some good fics. Any Star Trek would be welcome, so long as it has some emphasis on story and ideas. Or, if you know of a story from another fandom that feels similar to mine, I might like that, too. Or even a published book you like, heck! I like to read!
> 
> Alright, well, have a good turn, everyone. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Stay tuned! I plan on posting new chapters every weekend.


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